Don't Look Now but I Lost My Shoe
by kabensi
Summary: Quinn really wants that transfer, as it's a key part of her Big Plans. Spoilers through season two. This is the Warbler!Q story.
1. Chapter 1

1

_Big __plans__._

It's always been in the back of her brain. The idea, the methodology. At first, she decides it's about social hierarchy, claiming what she needs to climb to the top and stay firmly planted, visible and vote-worthy.

It works. For a while.

But it's not enough. She still has a grip on the top of the (figurative) pyramid, but the ground's giving way and there's no tiara to cling to, no overtly tall oafish boyfriend to hold her up.

She needs something else.

The idea of a fresh start really appeals to her, but she can't bail on New Directions, not now, not after everything. They've all worked so hard and she wants to see it through. She even feels like she owes a little something to Rachel, because it's not her damn fault that Finn's like a ping-pong ball, ricocheting between them.

There's also the fact that Rachel's the only one who seems to "get" her. For all their drama, they have their moments, short interludes of understanding.

Still, when the idea develops into an actual plan of action, she can't bring herself to tell her. Not right away. Kurt's the only one who knows (and, by default, Blaine) because she needs his help with the execution and because he literally has something she needs.

* * *

><p>"You want what?" he asks. The request is enough to get him to look up from his copy of Italian Vogue.<p>

"Your uniform. I'll buy it. Or... them, I guess. You have more than one, right?"

He closes the magazine, because now she has his full attention. At first he was thinking it was a costume party thing, but now that she's speaking in plurals, he knows something is most definitely up. "Why?"

She's prepared for the third degree but it's still difficult to vocalize, because she's still not really sure about all the details. There is one, though, that's crystal clear. "I want to transfer to Dalton."

The look on his face is somewhere between amused and annoyed, because he can't quite tell if she's just fucking with him. "You're thinking of Crawford," he says, sipping his blended skinny vanilla frapp.

"_No_. I'm not."

She's fully aware that Crawford Country Day Academy is the sister school to Dalton. But that's not what she wants.

"Quinn?" Now he's curious, because she can't possibly be serious. And if she is, well that's just... fascinating. As it is, he's itching for any good stories, because school's been out for a whole week and the most he gets at home is the sports news shot back and forth between his dad and Finn at breakfast, and that's only if Finn has even rolled his lanky ass out of bed before eleven.

They're off in a corner of The Lima Bean and it's not really that busy. Regardless, she waves him closer and she's already practically leaning across the table before she speaks again.

"I want to transfer to Dalton." It's a direct repeat, distinctly enunciated for clarity.

"Is this... some kind of immersion journalism project?" He wouldn't put it past her, the girl in front of him was bound to try anything for a shot at a scholarship.

"No. Kurt, please. Just, let me buy the uniforms." Her tone shifts from confident to strained.

Something's different.

"Okay. Uh, yeah. Why not? I don't need them." He leans back in his chair, hands together as he considers their similar waistlines. "Come by tomorrow and I'll fit them for you. I'm taller, so we'll need to hem the slacks. And you'll want the blazer taken in to accent your-"

"No." Again with the negative. "I mean, yeah, hem the pants. But I don't want to... accent anything else."

"You _really_ want to transfer," he realizes. "As a..."

She shrugs, but it's not because she's unsure.

He strokes his chin as he studies her, an evaluation already forming. Not judgement, though. He supports this, whatever it is. "You'll need another hair cut. The bob's adorable, but you'll never pass. Not even there." He's already projecting various styles and cuts onto her head. "Doesn't have to be drastically shorter than it is, just... different."

"Okay." She's relieved that someone else is on board, even if she hasn't divulged everything.

"You should probably talk to Blaine."

* * *

><p>They're in her room, because they can't do this at Kurt's. Finn lives there and while she knows this can't stay a secret forever and despite whatever satisfaction it might give her to confuse the hell out of him, she's not quite ready for that step in the process.<p>

Blaine's there, too, seated at the vanity, legs crossed, his back to the mirror. He hasn't asked too many questions, because Kurt's filled him in. Quinn actually requested it because, while Kurt loves gossip, he also manages to keep his mouth shut when it's important and Blaine seems to abide by that same philosophy.

She needs support and they're it.

"Stop fidgeting. Honestly, you'd think this was your first fitting." In addition to the numerous impromptu alterations Kurt's done for Glee Club, he knows her prom dress was professionally fitted, and it's obvious she's well versed in tailoring etiquette. Except her right leg won't hold still.

Quinn catches the glare shooting up at her from below and she plants her foot on the floor. "Sorry."

When Blaine finally speaks up, it's to ask something Kurt couldn't answer. "What do your parents think of this?"

"My dad's irrelevant. Mom's... working on it."

* * *

><p><em>"Quinnie." Judy's voice is part warning, part concern, both parts directly related to the fact that Quinn's face is buried in a pint of Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk.<em>

_"Finn broke up with me." Quinn drops the spoon into the carton. "Again."_

_"Oh, honey." What kind of boy breaks up with a girl at a funeral for goodness sake?_

_"It's... not a big deal."_

_Judy doesn't believe that, at all. "I know you stopped carb counting after prom, but you seem to be over-compensating if whatever happened isn't that important to you."_

_"I can deal with losing Finn. It's..." Quinn's not sure how to put her thoughts into words._

_They've been in family therapy together ever since she returned home to Fabray Manor and both of them have worked through a lot. Really, the problem was Russell, because the mother/daughter dynamic has always been, for the most part, good. Less good when Judy drinks, but even at her worst, she's never been at all like him._

_But this is more than just a chat about boys or even a discussion about sex, it's about change and shifting expectations and Quinn's not sure how her mother will respond._

_"... I thought I wanted to be prom queen."_

_"It's okay that you didn't get it. There's always next year. And you should try for Homecoming Queen, too."_

_"Mom."_

_"I'm sorry. Go on."_

_"I don't want to run next year. For any of it. I don't even want to go to McKinley." The words are hard enough to get out and this is the easiest part of the conversation._

_"All right. That's fine. We already considered originally sending you to Crawford, but you were so fixated on Cheerios."_

_"I know. But... I don't want to go there."_

_"There are only so many options, Quinn."_

_"Dalton."_

_"I'm sorry?"_

_"I want to go to Dalton Academy."_

_"But that's an all boys school." Judy stares at her, then begins to laugh. It's genuine amusement, because she thinks Quinn's pulled a good one over on her._

_Quinn pulls the spoon out of the ice cream and secures the lid before rising from the couch and exiting to the kitchen. It was worth a shot._

_"Quinn?" Judy quickly realizes it's not a joke and follows after her daughter._

_The younger blonde shoves the ice cream to the back of the freezer and carelessly pushes the appliance door shut. "I don't actually want to bbe/b a guy, if that's what you're thinking."_

_She really doesn't. She knows because she's considered it, wondered if that's what all this means. What she discovered was, she likes being a girl just fine, but ever since she took control of her life after Bellville, everything's been about expected appearances: Cheerios, Celibacy Club, Prom Queen. Even pregnant, she did her best to cling to whatever representation people responded to best. She's good at social manipulation, it's how she got to where she is. Or was. _

_Either way, neither place is where she actually wants to be._

_Judy nods. "Do you think you're..."_

_There are probably a million variations of the way that question could end, but Quinn knows what her mother is asking. _

_"I don't know." _

_Maybe she has an idea, but this already feels like enough of a bomb to drop and she doesn't feel like getting into a deep discussion about how her infatuation with Rachel Berry actually has nothing to do with Finn and is only partly related to the little diva's path to inevitable success._

_She has no idea how to read her mother's expression and she's already mentally packing up her bedroom, trying to determine what will and won't fit into the spare room at the Jones residence._

_"But this is something you really want." It's not a question. "To go to Dalton."_

_Quinn nods._

_"Then I suggest you figure out just how you're going to make that happen." _

_Quinn can tell her mother doesn't entirely understand, but the crushing hug she's currently receiving from Judy suggests that she's willing to try._

* * *

><p>Kurt presses two fingers to his mouth, the tailor's tape draped over his neck as he looks her over. "It's uncanny, really." He won't let her look in the mirror, yet. "You still need a haircut, but I think we're done, here." His hand waves in dismissal, giving her permission to turn around.<p>

Everything about this screams _Bad__ 80'__s __Movie_, but as she straightens the tie and brushes her hands over the lapels of the blue blazer, all she can think about is how she's never felt so right about anything as she has her current reflection.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Telling New Directions is harder than telling her mom, and she's not even giving them the whole truth.

They're nearing the end of their voluntary summertime club meeting (every other Saturday at Rachel's and it's only voluntary if you don't mind her blowing up your phone with texts about how much you were missed last time and not so gentle reminders about the next meeting date), and Quinn knows it's now or never. Her late admissions interview is Monday afternoon and she still hasn't cut her hair (she's trying to avoid unnecessary questions). Once the haircut happens, she plans to lay low, which should be easy because everyone kind of has their own summer plans (dance camp, football camp, theatre camp) and she'll have plenty of excuses as to why she's unavailable.

"I have something I need to say to the club," she says, rising from the Berry's piano bench. As much as she's looking forward to her new start, this group has held her together for the last two years and it feels like an impending break up as she rubs her palms over her skirt.

"All right, Quinn has the floor." With a dramatic wave of the hand, Rachel signals for Quinn to proceed before dropping onto the floor next to Finn.

"I want to start by saying that I've really had a great time in this club, and I have no idea what I would have done without you guys." There's a look of gratitude specifically reserved for Mercedes, then she steadies herself with a sharp breath through her nose. "But I won't be at McKinley for senior year."

There's a collective murmur from the group, a rabble of questions she knew she didn't really want to answer. Kurt is the only one who isn't totally shocked because he already knows and when she catches his eye, he offers a smile of reassurance.

The sound of Rachel's gavel cuts through the hubbub as she calls the basement to order. "Order, please!" Once the voices die down, she says, "I'm sure Quinn has a perfectly reasonable explanation and I, for one, would like to hear it."

"Given, um, everything that's been happening, my mom and I have decided that private school will give me a better advantage when it comes to college prep." It's a bullshit answer and transparent as hell, but she keeps trying. "Without Cheerios, I need to focus on academics and McKinley isn't exactly stellar. No offense to Mr. Schue," she adds, even though he's not even present. "I'll miss all of you, but this is what's important, right now." She sits back down and the room is quiet until Rachel bangs the gavel one time.

"Everyone is free to go," says the brunette, who stands and begins to collect the soda cans and water bottles that are sitting around the room.

Quinn feels obliged to help and follows Rachel to the recycling can that sits next to the bar. "I just-"

"I don't want to hear it."

"Excuse me?"

"Whatever you're about to say. You can go ahead and keep it to yourself."

Quinn understands that she's dropped a moderate bomb on the club, but she was never their strongest voice, not by a long shot. "You guys will be fine without me."

"I'm sure we will." Rachel turns to resume the clean up, but Quinn catches her arm.

"I don't want to leave the club, but I can't really stay in it if I'm at a different school."

"Then why go?"

"I told you."

Their voices are hushed, even though the rest of the group is involved in their own conversations. "You know just as well as I do that your AP scores at McKinley will do you just as much good as they will at Crawford. I think you're scared, Quinn. And I think you're taking the easy way out."

"Yeah, well, I guess that shows you really know nothing about me."

"Good, maybe it's better that way."

"Maybe it is." Quinn pivots on one foot and locates her purse. There's a solid five minutes of rotating hugs, but no ones acting like it's that big of a deal, because they all assume they'll see her later, maybe even at the next meeting.

Her whispered argument with Rachel is the last exchange they share for at least a month.

* * *

><p>On her way home, she receives a text she's definitely not expecting.<p>

_Meet __me __at __Sonic __in __ten __minutes__._

* * *

><p>She can't remember the last time they hung out, just the two of them. They haven't really been close since before Babygate, but before Babygate, they were close.<p>

They're in Quinn's car, because Santana basically scared the shit out of her when she pulled into the parking lot, by flinging the door open and throwing herself into the passenger seat. Milkshakes are ordered and on the way and there's no chance of small talk because this is Santana and Santana doesn't do small talk.

"So, spill it."

"What?"

"Fuck off, Fabray. What the hell's going on?"

"You were there, you heard me. I'm transferring."

"You're so annoying." Santana rolls her eyes and drops her head back against the seat. "I meant, what the hell is going on iwith you/i."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know."

"Since when?"

"Are you just doing this to piss me off?"

Quinn can't help but laugh. "Everything I do is to piss you off."

"Here's what I think: You're ditching me senior year to go to lame ass Crawford, where all the girls dress like Berry and you can lez it up playing lacrosse or whatever." Santana tilts her head toward the blonde in the driver's seat. "And I can say that because I'm a _lesbian_."

She draws out the last word for emphasis, just as their order arrives at the window. If Quinn's mortified, she doesn't show it and that's when Santana realizes she's actually hit on something.

"Holy shit. You _are_ gay."

It's the first time anyone's actually called her on it since the conversation with her mom. Even Kurt and Blaine haven't asked her, not directly. She's sure they're being sensitive or respectful but Santana is neither of those things.

At least not in the traditional sense.

"I'm..." She wants to say she isn't, but she considers who's asking. Why bother denying the fact that she likes girls to someone who also likes girls? "Maybe I am."

It's the closest she's come to admitting it and as much as she's avoided this conversation (with others and herself), it really does make a ridiculous amount sense. She's always been hiding behind the Celibacy Club or the pretext of the perfect social image. It's not even that she never loved Finn, because she did. She knows he's capable of being kind and sweet and protective, but even when he dumped her (the second time) she mourned the loss of the relationship over the loss of the actual boyfriend.

The truth of it is, none of her exes come close to leaving her as feeling as frustrated and vibrantly alive as she does when she's arguing with Rachel.

"Is that what all this shit's about?" Santana asks around her straw. "Because," she lowers the cup. "the Bullywhips will be out in full force when school starts. We'll have your back."

"It's not that. Or... not just that." Quinn's barely consumed any of her milkshake, even though she keeps chewing on the straw.

"If you tell me you're pregnant again, I'm keying your car."

"I'm not going to Crawford."

"So, what then? You just Punk'd the Glee Club?"

"No, I'm still transferring. Just... not there."

"Quinn, if you don't just fucking tell me what you're getting at, I'm not above taking you on a round trip tour of Lima Heights."

The blonde sighs and closes her eyes before she spits it out. "I'm trying to get into Dalton."

"As in the gay school?"

If it's possible to open and roll one's eyes at the same time, Quinn's just done it. "It's not a gay school."

"Oh, whatever. You and I both know all those Warblers practically lit the stage on fire."

"Shouldn't the Bullywhips have to take some kind of sensitivity course?"

"Don't try to change the subject. You just told me you want to go to an all gay boys' school."

"It's not-" Quinn knows there's no point in arguing the former. "Yeah."

Santana's silent for a solid minute.

Quinn worries it's too much, but then the silence is broken.

"Are you gonna make us call you Chaz?"

"No. I'm not, like, doing that." She's not sure how to explain it, but she's more confident now that Santana's still firmly seated next to her and not running down the street. "I just want to see what it's like. To not have to be... so girly, I guess."

"You could do that at McKinley," Santana reasons.

There's a very subtle shrug of the shoulders. "I just want to start over."

"You're an idiot." She continues before Quinn has a chance to jump in. "Because you just told me that you're hot for chicks and now you're heading off to a school full of boys. Gay. Boys." There's a playful shove at the blonde's right shoulder. "I would fucking kill to go to Crawford. I'll bet those girls are hot for each other all the time."

"You're a pig, Lopez."

"Just keeping it real."


	3. Chapter 3

3

It's a drastic transition, sure. But this is her second experience in starting over from scratch and this time she doesn't even have to change her name.

She knows first days are already stressful when you're the new kid, even though Blaine's assured her that he'll stick by her side. Plus, she'll be a senior, which is a major advantage. There's an irony in the fact that she's, once again, hiding behind a uniform, the same way she did in Cheerios. This time, though, it's about blending in, not standing out. She doesn't want people parting like Biblical allegories when she moves down the hall. She wants to go unnoticed, unrecognized.

For once in her life, she doesn't want it to be about being the pretty girl or the popular girl or the pregnant girl. It's just supposed to be about _being__Quinn__Fabray_.

It's a long running fantasy and it's about to be fulfilled.

* * *

><p><em>"Mister Fabray, we've had a look at your application and admissions essay, as well as your transcript. Your grades are more than satisfactory and your writing ability is definitely something to be commended."<em>

_"Thank you, sir." Quinn's been working on her voice, keeping it low, which is actually easier than she originally expected because there's a natural raspiness to it._

_She wishes she'd gotten the (second) haircut sooner, because playing with her hair is a habit and now there's much less to work with and she's worried she looks like she has a nervous tic with her hand moving around her face all the time. The cut's similar to Sam's (before it got too shaggy) and she's still blonde (because the color just looks awesome on her)._

_Since it would be rather presumptuous to wear the Dalton uniform to an admissions interview, she's wearing Blaine's hand-me-downs. Kurt had offered, but his taste isn't quite what Quinn wants for her new boyish persona. It's not that she can't afford to go shopping for herself, but this still feels like an experiment and half of Blaine's wardrobe is like new, anyway, and now there are a few recently acquired outfits in her closet, opposite the skirts and dresses. _

_Right now, she's wearing charcoal slacks with a lighter gray sport coat over an even lighter gray shirt (Blaine calls it "Overcast"). Her tie coordinates with the pants and it's all held together with Kurt's promise that "neutrals are forever, darling". The shoes are a little uncomfortable because they're brand new and not broken in, though they still beat wearing heels all night at the damn prom. And don't even get her started on dress socks, because not only are they super cute, but they're way more sensible and comfortable than stupid tights or pantyhose. The only thing really giving her trouble is the compression shirt she has on to keep certain parts of herself incognito, and it's only a bother because it's the middle of summer._

_Her posturing is her weakest asset and she's been working hard on it, to get it just right. She's been trained to be a lady, delicate and proper. When it comes to recreating how she carries herself, she emulates what she knows and discovers Finn's gait is too broad and Puck's just all around too sloppy, but Sam's a gentleman who isn't a giant and he's actually a perfect fit._

_The headmaster continues. "At this point, I'd like to ask why you feel Dalton is right for you."_

_"Or course," she says as she rubs her hands together and sits forward a little. "Dalton has an outstanding reputation for academics. There are a couple Ivy League schools on my wishlist, and while I realize last year was probably my most crucial as far as academic placement, spending my final year here would definitely only benefit my scholastic success." The way she's carrying on feels like she's channeling Rachel. "I also understand you have an incredible glee club."_

_The headmaster's already pleased with "Mister" Fabray's answer, but his eyes light up at the mention of the Warblers. "Ah, we do. Have you ever seen them perform?"_

_"Yes, sir. Blaine Anderson is actually a friend of mine."_

_"Already keeping good company, I see!" The headmaster is pleased by that and he closes Quinn's file. "At this point, I'll give you the honest truth. We have five slots still open and about a dozen young men looking to fill them."_

_Quinn does her best not to focus on the accidental innuendo. "All right."_

_"If you're selected, you'll be notified by the end of the week. It's been a pleasure to meet you."_

__That Friday, when she receives the acceptance email, she's so happy that when she finally falls asleep, her face hurts from smiling too much.__

* * *

><p><p>

The weeks between her acceptance and the first days of attendance serve as a sort of self inflicted boot camp. She watches movies, lots of movies. A couple are standard issue for the situation, like _She__'__s __the __Man_ and _Just __One __of __the __Guys__, _but she also studies the collective films of Ryan Reynolds and James Franco with a dash of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, in an attempt to piece together what she needs.

The over-the-top situations aren't really applicable. There will be no "changing in the boys' locker room" hi-jinks, because her time spent on the Cheerios already fulfilled her athletic requirements. Similarly, there would be no awkward rooming situations, because she'll still be living at home, the same way Kurt had during his time at Dalton.

But she still has to blend in, to not be such a girly girl, because even the most effeminate guys at Dalton are still guys, and that means they have one up on her.

The week before school starts, they take a trip to Toledo. They're just going to the mall, but it's a true test run.

Before they leave, it's parade of fashions time in Quinn's bedroom, because Kurt wants this first outing (doubly so) to be perfect. After all the fuss and muss, the ultimate decision is a simple red Lacoste polo shirt and a pair of jeans. The look reminds her of Finn, but it's reassuring in a weird way. This way she has a direct source from which to drawn inspiration, if needed.

"At school, you'll be able to hide behind the tie and the blazer, so if you can convince total strangers in just this, you're golden." This is Kurt's advice and she figures it's accurate.

Santana shows up and lets herself in, jumping a little as she nearly collides with Quinn in the hallway. "Holy shit, I almost thought you were Sam." She sizes up the figure in front of her, then hooks a finger in Quinn's beltloop and drags her into the bedroom, where Kurt's waiting.

"What are you-"

"It's good, Q. But..." She releases her grip and yanks open a dresser drawer. After rifling around for a moment, she produces a pair of athletic socks, which she promptly and unceremoniously shoves down the front of Quinn's pants.

"Whoa, hey," Quinn's hands are up in the air, but Santana's already three steps back, eyeing her handiwork.

"Better. Though you probably want to stash that actually inside your boxer briefs so that you don't send people into a panic when your junk starts falling down your pant leg."

Kurt's face is hard to read. It's difficult to tell if he can't believe he forgot something so crucial or if he's in shock for witnessing what he considers to be the closest he's ever come to lesbian sex.

"I'd fuck you," Santana breezes. "I mean that, as in, I would have last year when I still did guys."

"Please, you've wanted some of this, anyway," Quinn shoots back before she grabs her brand new wallet and shoves it in her pocket.

Pockets are nice, though she's learning how to downsize, because half the crap she carries in her purse isn't going to fit in her jeans. As it stands, she's narrowed it down to wallet, keys, and chapstick. Though, part of today's trip is to find an acceptable crossover bag that will hold the rest of her stuff. Like tampons, which is something she can't avoid needing when the time comes.

"Get over yourself, Fabray. I'm too tall and not Jewish enough to even be your type."

Quinn's about to point out that Santana never actually denied wanting her when Blaine shows up and Kurt latches onto him because he doesn't know how to deal with the pseudo-sexual tension between the two (other) HBICs in the room.

The trip is a success, even though Blaine and Santana get into a heated argument about the acceptable volume levels of music while on group car trips (he says it's polite to keep it low, she says it's loud and proud and let the bass pound). Once they get to the mall, Quinn and Kurt make them apologize to each other in exchange for free Dairy Queen Blizzards.

Not only does she find a suitable messenger bag at the Fossil store (she's shopping for watches, but the canvas carrier catches her eye and also garners approval from the whole troupe), she discovers the accessory that will serve as her magic feather (kind of, because she knows she doesn't actually need it).

Glasses.

They're simple black plastic frames, but they make a world of difference. It's like a Clark Kent effect, really. They're something she can put on and take off, because the hair's not going anywhere and, while the clothes can easily be changed, channeling her Dalton identity into a specific item gives her an additional sense of control.

Quinn likes control and she knows subjecting herself to a brave new world with the constant possibility of being discovered is going to result in a lot of uncontrolled situations.

* * *

><p>Quinn Fabray feels a little bit like Superman the night before the first day of senior year.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

4

Dalton's start date is a week before McKinley's so Santana and Kurt offer to make the drive in the morning to see Quinn off on her first day, which is impressive because it's at least an hour and a half drive if you manage to avoid traffic and classes begin promptly at eight. Getting up early isn't a huge deal because Quinn's already used to waking up at an ungodly hour for even more ungodly Cheerios practices.

She's cut at least a half an hour out of her morning routine because she doesn't have to worry about make-up (okay, maybe the lightest possible, practically untraceable dusting of Bare Minerals) or setting aside as much time to blow dry her hair (when she even bothers anymore, it takes three minutes and it's done).

A good chunk of the time she gained this morning is lost when she spends a solid twelve minutes (at least three of them dedicated to "glasses on, glasses off" poses) just looking at herself in the mirror, modeling the blazer and tie like she's rehearsing for a goddamn Ralph Lauren audition. She would go on longer, but she catches sight of her mother standing in the doorway.

Quinn's embarrassed, but Judy doesn't comment on the display which kind of makes it worse, because there's no telling how long she's actually been standing there. It's still early, so the elder blonde is in her robe, coffee cup in each hand. She passes one to Quinn.

"You look... very charming." The last word almost sounds rehearsed, like she spent time trying to find the right one. It's not that Judy isn't sincere or supportive, it's just easier to naturally know how to compliment her daughter's prom dress than it is the uniform for her first day at an all male prep school.

"Thanks." Quinn sips the coffee then sets the cup down so she can put on her shoes.

"Quinnie."

"Yeah, Mom?" When she looks up she sees Judy retrieving a small, flat box from her robe pocket.

"For your last first day."

Her mother hasn't given her a first day of school present since Bellville, and it was always within the same theme: Some ridiculously fun pencil with a feather topper or glitter gel pen that's practically illegible when it writes.

Quinn opens the box to find a silver retractable ballpoint pen with _Q__. __Fabray_ etched onto the side of the barrel. It's modest but classy and she immediately tucks it away into the inner pocket of her blazer. "I love it. Thank you."

She stands and wraps her arms around Judy in a hug, her mother does her best not to spill her coffee. "I'm proud of you, Quinn. I still may not understand it, but I'm proud of you."

It's a good thing there's no need to worry about runny mascara.

* * *

><p>This morning she doesn't even have to drive herself (though she's kind of really looking forward to the daily alone time in the car), because Kurt offers the rides both in and out of Westerville, since he wants to see Blaine, anyway. Santana sleeps in the backseat for most of the drive in, staking serious claim on the few precious remaining mornings of her summer vacation.<p>

She does, however, manage to wake up in time to drag herself out of the car and slug Quinn in the shoulder as she says, "Go get 'em, tiger. And, if you need to, you can tell them that you tapped this." There's a pause as she waves to a pair of uniformed students who pass by them. "But nothing too racy, because I'm not a total slut."

Kurt and Blaine hold hands and make disgusting moon eyes at each other as they lean against the massive SUV. Really, they've been dating for way too long to still be this damn cute all the time.

Quinn checks her watch (it's bulky on her thin wrist, but she likes it, just the same) to find she has eleven minutes before she's due to check in. While it's technically the first day for everyone, the first half of the day primarily an orientation day for freshmen and transfer students. The plan is for Blaine to escort her through campus to her first class, then hang out with Kurt for the first three periods while Santana naps in the car.

He finally gives Kurt a goodbye kiss on the cheek and Kurt gives Quinn a tight hug. "Knock 'em dead."

The whole moment is finally punctuated by a smack on the ass from Santana before she calls out (rather loudly), "Later, _lover__,_" then she shoots her a wink and smile when Quinn turns around to give her the evil eye.

* * *

><p>Orientation drags on a little too long for her liking. Most of it is geared toward freshmen, who need to be told every single thing about life. Fortunately, she doesn't have to sit through the final session about dorm life (she's only a day student), so she has a free hour before heading off to her first English class of her Dalton career.<p>

Blaine's still off with Kurt and she wouldn't dear provoke the sleeping bear that is Santana Lopez on a Saturday morning (and/or early afternoon), so she's just sitting in one of the abundant study lounges scattered throughout the campus. She's reviewing the packet about the school's zero-tolerance harassment policy, because it's likely going to be her best friend in all of this, when someone approaches and says, "Quinn?"

She looks up, half terrified that someone's found her out, already. "Yes?"

"Hi," says the guy standing in front of her. He's holding his notebook to his chest with one arm and the other's outstretched in her direction. "Wes Montgomery."

She shakes his hand, making sure her grip is appropriately firm as she does. "Quinn Fabray."

"I know."

"Oh?" _Crap__._

"Blaine told me to keep an eye out for you."

"Right, yes. Good to meet you."

"Just wanted to let you know that the Warblers auditions are this Thursday at four. Come early, come prepared, and most importantly, come ready to have a hell of a good time." His smile is wide as he hands her a flier with the details. "Blaine mentioned you might be interested."

"Yeah, definitely," she says, taking the paper and slipping it into her notebook. "You guys are a really amazing club."

"You've heard us?"

She can't tell him she's competed against them (and won), that's too risky. "I've... seen some of Blaine's videos."

Wes nods. "Awesome. Just know, we're even better live." He smiles. "I'll see you around? I hate to recruit and run, but I like to scope out the new prospects."

"No problem."

Her plan was to lay low, to just be average, but the idea of being part of a glee club that was on par with the (former) social status of the Cheerios at McKinley was incredibly appealing. Yeah, she came here to start over.

That doesn't mean she has to start over at the bottom.


	5. Chapter 5

5

_She's out for a run._

_Without Cheerios or New Directions dance rehearsal, she needs some way to stay active. While she's pretty sure her Lucy Caboosey days are behind her forever, she's always been paranoid about regaining the weight (even though Judy assures her it was, for the most part, baby fat). Since the pregnancy she's gotten much better at not hating herself for actually liking food, but she's resigned to the fact that she'll probably always be obsessed with physical fitness._

_One of the most awesome things about her Dalton plan is the way Blaine's clothes (or, actually, bher/b clothes) fit. Even though Kurt's gone through and altered everything he can, the most fitted apparel still leaves more breathing room than what she's used to. It's a lot less like being on display._

_It's an early August evening, so it's warm but there's a nice breeze that makes everything feel just about perfect, the way summer nights should._

_She's wearing her usual running gear: Old cheer camp shorts, with a lightweight hoodie up over her head. Her iPod's turned up just loud enough to hear, but not so loud as to drown out any possible serial killers sneaking up behind her._

_Fall Out Boy's "Thanks for the Memories" has her moving at a steady pace about a half mile from home (nights like this she can easily manage two full ones), when she hears her name being called out. It's now that she realizes she's on Rachel's street and she's tempted to just keep going, as if she didn't hear anything, because she's really got a great momentum going and also has no desire to explain her hair cut. She hasn't seen Rachel since that club meeting in the basement._

_"Quinn!"_

_She slows and turns around, but she doesn't actually see anyone. "Uh, hello?" she asks, pulling one of the earbuds free._

_"Up here."_

_Quinn looks upward, in the direction of the voice, and sure enough there's Rachel leaning out her bedroom window. "Hey." There's a wave and then she waits for the girl to say whatever she plans to say. She hopes it doesn't take very long._

_"You're making good time tonight."_

_"Yeah, well... I **was**... How do you even know that?" She silences the iPod and frees her other ear. Her first instinct is to pull the hood down, but then she realizes that's not the best idea. Instead, she plays with the drawstrings._

_"You usually run by around seven-fifteen." Rachel turns from the window, likely to consult a timepiece in her room, then looks back at Quinn. "It's just now seven-oh-seven."_

_"Maybe I just left earlier."_

_"Maybe you did."_

_Quinn stands there, waiting to see if there's more as she zips the drawstring back and forth through the hoodie, ultimately pulling it tighter around her head. "Was there-"_

_"Sorry I was so short with you. About the transfer." There it is._

_"It's okay, I... should have given you more warning."_

_Rachel nods. "Yeah. I understand, though."_

_"Cool." There's another beat of awkward silence. "I should probably get-"_

_"I'll miss you." Rachel lays it out there, just like that._

_Quinn's not expecting that and she's also not counting on the way the words seem to tug at her from within. Maybe this is her window of opportunity, right in front of her, wide open with Rachel practically sitting in it. She can just explain that she's not even going to Crawford, that it's about something more than just a new school, that it's about herself and this thing she needs to do._

_But she doesn't offer any explanation. She just offers a wave and says, "I'll miss you, too," before turning to literally run away._

_It's another quarter mile before she even remembers to turn the music back on._

* * *

><p><p>

Day one at Dalton is like a dream. Nobody questions her, everyone's friendly. It's like weird non-gay (but still kind of gay) utopia.

At lunch, she's invited to sit with Blaine and his friends (Kurt and Santana are at the Westerville Mall). They're all Warblers and they all have advice about Thursday's audition process.

Quinn's not sure if it's purely the Dalton mentality or a difference between guys and girls, but she can't imagine anyone she knows doing the same thing for someone who might be looking to join Cheerios. It was always kill or be killed. Of course, that may just be the overall Sue Sylvester approach to life.

After lunch is calculus, but all the classes are shortened, due to the morning orientation, so there's barely any time to cover anything other than roll. As she exits the classroom, she feels a tap on her shoulder, follows by, "Excuse me."

She moves through the doorway, into the hall before she sees the mystery tapper. Whoever he is, she doesn't know him other than the fact that they were just in the same classroom together. "Yes?"

"I noticed that you're new and I just wondered if anyone's told you about Snipe Club, yet."

"Snipe Club."

"Yeah."

Quinn's curious about whatever variation this school happens to have of this particular hazing ritual, but not curious enough to end up locked in the showers covered in peanut butter or something. Which was exactly what happened In Cheerios, if you fell for their "Annual Snipe Hunt Sleepover" bullshit.

"Sorry, pal, but I'm not buying it." Quinn adjusts the bag on her shoulder and just wants to get to her locker to unload her books.

He seems genuinely shocked that she's turned him down, but then he smiles. "I wish I'd been like you, last year. I wouldn't have had to drink that ketchup milkshake." He holds out his hand. "Jackson Donnelly. Senior."

She accepts the introduction, again remembering to keep the shake as firm as possible. "Quinn Fabray. Also a senior." There's something familiar about the name, but she's heard Blaine talk about so many people, it's likely she just heard it before.

"Where are you headed next?"

"Uh, Government."

"Cool, I'm headed there, too. I'll walk with you."

"Okay, but I have to hit the lockers."

He turns to walk with her down the hall. "Ah, a fellow day student."

"You too?"

"Yeah. It'd be cool to be here with the guys all the time, but it's too expensive."

"Right, it's pretty steep. Worth it, though. I hope."

"Oh, definitely. I would have loved to have done all four years here, but I ended up at Highland for the first two."

"Highland's got a great gymnasium." Quinn's familiar with a lot of gyms and football fields.

"Yeah, it wasn't bad. Especially after Bellville."

She almost drops her books. Fortunately, they're at the lockers, so she has an excuse to hide her face from him.

_That__'__s_ why she knows the name.

"Hey, you know what? I forgot I'm supposed to drop off a form at admissions, so I'll, uh, meet you in class."

"Oh. Okay, sure. See you, Quinn."

"See you." As soon as he's gone, she drops her head forward against the edge of the open locker.

_It__'__s __fine__, _she tells herself. She was practically unrecognizable from Lucy Caboosey as a girl, so she has to be worlds apart from her former self as a boy, right?

Just in case, she sends up a silent prayer, unsure whether God's even taking calls from gay cross dressing prep students.

She really fucking hopes He is.


	6. Chapter 6

6

When Kurt finally drops her off after the drive home (which takes forever, because they left late and hit rush hour), she's tired and tempted to skip her evening run, but she knows her routine is key to success (and sanity), so she sheds her uniform and slips on her running gear. Tonight's pace is slower (it's an Outkast playlist kind of night) and she's already thinking about just doing one mile when she hits Rachel's street.

For the first time all week she notices the light on in the bedroom window. In a moment of something she chalks up to a momentary lack of fitness discipline (but that's not at all what it is), she allows herself to slow to a stop in front of the Berry's yard. She wonders if Rachel's up there singing into her hairbrush or something equally lame. And adorable.

She pauses to consider when she decided those two things were interchangeable.

"Quinn?" But the voice isn't coming from the window, because it's still shut.

Off to the left is the front door of the house and it's wide open, with Rachel standing in the doorframe.

"Hey." There's a slight panic because she can't ensure any distance between them to avoid all the questions she's not ready to answer.

"Hi." Rachel looks down at her feet then back up at Quinn. "Pardon me for not stepping out any further. I'm not trying to be Rude, but just painted my toenails and would prefer to avoid any unnecessary touch ups."

"Understood." Her hands are already wrapped around opposite ends of the string, again.

"And to what do I owe the honor of this stop over?"

"I noticed you were gone all week. Saw the light on."

There's at least a good twenty feet between then, because Quinn's still glued to the spot where she originally stopped, but there's no missing the smile that appears on Rachel's face.

"We were on vacation. My dads have a lake house. We generally go for Fourth of July, but Daddy had to work that week. It's quite lovely and I found it very inspirational to my latest songwriting endeavors."

"Sounds like it would be." Quinn releases the string and busies herself with the task of winding her earbuds around her iPod. "Can I... ask you about something?"

"Of course." Rachel leans against the doorjamb. If she wants Quinn to come closer for any reason, she's not suggesting it.

"I'm thinking about joining the glee club at school and auditions are Thursday. I wondered if you had any advice."

"Oh." Rachel evaluates that for a moment. "You auditioned for New Directions just fine."

"I had Brittany and Santana to back me up. I'll have to do it solo this time and... solos aren't really my strong suit."

"Quinn, you have a lovely voice. Certainly not as dynamic as mine, but you're good. Above average, even. And you really have nothing to worry about because the Crawford glee club has never placed at a sectional competition, so it can't possibly be that difficult to get in."

"So you're saying I'm in the clear because the club sucks, anyway?"

Rachel picks at the paint on the doorframe. "I'm saying you're worried about nothing."

"Okay. Well, thanks." Quinn uncoils her headphones.

"Do you want me to help you pick a song?"

"What, right now?" She can use the help, but there's no way she's going into Rachel's house.

Fortunately, the reply is, "Or later. Facebook me."

"But doesn't it help if you can hear me sing?"

"I'm sure the technology exists to make that happen. Anyway, I'm quite familiar with your range and voice quality, already. I can already think of a few recommendations."

There's a lull while Quinn considers the offer, then mentally calculates her plans for the evening.

"Maybe around nine?"

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel <strong>**B****. ****Berry**** [8:59****pm****]****  
><strong>Quinn? Are you here?

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:00****pm****]****  
><strong>Quinn?

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:01****pm****]  
><strong>?

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:03****pm****]  
><strong>QUINNNnnnnnn

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:04****pm****]  
><strong>brb

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:06****pm****]  
><strong>back

**Q****. ****Fabray**** [9:07****pm****]  
><strong>Omg, I was in the shower.

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:07****pm****]  
><strong>I thought we agreed on nine.

**Q****. ****Fabray**** [9:07****pm****]  
><strong>I said around nine.

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:08****pm****]  
><strong>You're usually quite punctual. It's one of the things I admire about you.

**Q****. ****Fabray**** [9:08****pm****]  
><strong>Thanks.

**Q****. ****Fabray**** [9:09****pm****]  
><strong>Sorry for making you wait.

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:09****pm****]  
><strong>Apology accepted.

**Q****. ****Fabray**** [9:10****pm****]  
><strong>Okay, what do we do first?

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:10****pm****]  
><strong>First we go to You Tube and browse based on personal preferences.

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:10****pm****]  
><strong>Do you have the link? I'll get it for you.

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry**** [9:10****pm****]  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Quinn's conversation with Rachel is actually quite productive (despite the misconception that instant messaging should always yield immediate replies) and they narrow her audition song down to two options. She's supposed to record them the next afternoon and send them to Rachel for evaluation.<p>

Somehow that's equally as daunting as the audition itself.

* * *

><p><em>"If I eat any more of this, I seriously might puke." That doesn't stop Santana from taking another bite of Judy's lemon meringue pie.<em>

_"Then don't keep shoving it in your face."_

_"But it tastes so good."_

_It's two days after Quinn's Dalton interview and they're sprawled out on the floor of the living room watching the third Pirates movie, but neither of them really care what happens because they've both seen it before and now that they're no longer in junior high, poor Orlando Bloom has greatly diminished in appeal for both of them. Also, the fact that they both like girls is probably a deciding factor._

_Santana reaches over and rubs her hand over Quinn's recently shortened hair. "I think I've created a monster."_

_"I didn't get this cut to feel better. It was just too long to work."_

_"It's not bad. You need to do your roots, though." Santana grabs a handful of hair and tugs before letting go. "When do you find out?"_

_"By Friday. If I don't get in, I'll feel like an idiot."_

_"You'll get in. And if you don't, just shoot for Crawford and do this experimental life shit the right way."_

_"Maybe you should consider going there if you're so in love with it."_

_"Look, Q, I know we have this common interest and all, but you really need to stop thinking about me in those schoolgirl uniforms. It's unhealthy." Her hand finds Quinn's head, again._

_"You're the one who can't keep your hands to yourself."_

_"It feels nice. Like a puppy."_

_Quinn doesn't argue because there are few things she loves more than someone playing with her hair, even when she barely has any. "You heard anything from Brittany at dance camp?"_

_"Her make out tally is somewhere around seven, right now."_

_"Is that you guessing or what she told you?"_

_"What she told me. She couldn't remember an exact number."_

_"I'm sorry, San."_

_Santana shrugs. "Can't really do anything about it."_

_"Anything else going on?" Quinn senses a subject change is vital to keep the mood away from a downward spiral._

_"Um... Oh. Oh my god. I can't believe I didn't tell you this. Or maybe Kurt already did. Did he?"_

_"I have absolutely no idea what in the hell you're talking about."_

_"Finn and Rachel broke up. Again."_

_"Oh?" Quinn tries not to sound like it's the best news she's heard all summer. "Any reason why?"_

_"I don't know, because he's a jolly giant with puffy pastry nipples?" At that thought, Santana's finally lost all interest in her dessert and pushes the plate away._

_"Good for her."_

_"Good for you, you mean."_

_"How?"_

_"Uh, she's single."_

_"I'm not..."_

_"We just had this talk, Fabray. Don't make me leg wrestle you to prove it."_

_"... sure if she's into that." Though, that doesn't stop Quinn from wishing she is._

_"Please, she's Broadway bound with two gay dads. She's bi-curious at the very least."_

_"That doesn't mean she likes me."_

_"Yeah, you are kind of a pain in the ass."_

_"I'm not above shoving the rest of this pie in your face."_

_"Seriously, you need to cut it out with the pick-up lines. It's bordering on harassment."_


	7. Chapter 7

7

Her second day starts out just as well as the first, but with fewer tears from Judy. She uses the morning drive time to practice the two songs she's supposed to record and send to Rachel that night (thank Jesus for Rachel's ballet class because otherwise there probably would have been some request to actually come over and sing in person). Really, after listening to at least two dozen songs, she likes the first one they finally settled on (and it's a proven fact, at least in her life, that "it's always the first one", at least when it comes to things like prom dress shopping), but Rachel's adamant about variety and options.

For the most part, it's all regular school stuff and she's more than happy to get lost in class lectures and assignments and the discovery of which hallways are usually less crowded at certain points during the school day. Her first and fifth period classes are with Blaine and there are a couple already familiar faces in all the others.

It's riveting, having a secret like this.

It's not like the pregnancy, which was never about infiltration but rather the inevitability of being found out, kicked off Cheerios (and out of her home), shunned, and gossiped about. That was also piggybacked on top of the paternity lie and all of it was centered around being scared to death over the outcome of a single stupid incident, a bad decision, and her own poor judgement.

This is about her, about the decision to take hold of something she wants, someone she needs to be.

Not that she didn't grow and learn and ultimately gain some valuable life lessons her sophomore year. Had it not been for Beth, Quinn would likely still be ignoring plenty of things about herself because she would have missed out on a majority of the late night soul searching one does when they're sixteen and pregnant, craving a very non-kosher Meat Lover's pizza from Domino's, while living on their Jewish sort-of-but-not-really-boyfriend's couch. Having to take care of someone else forced her to take care of herself, even if she did immediately revert to plenty of her previous habits once all was said and done.

There was no way she'd be here now if it weren't for that night with Puck and she supposes, in some ridiculous indirect way, she should thank him for that. Except he'll likely respond with a lewd suggestion of recreating history and then she'll have to punch him in the stomach the same way she did when he so kindly offered to let her blow him after claiming to read an online article about "how some pregnant chicks totally dig on getting their dudes off."

But now she's older, wiser, and undercover.

Through the exhilaration of it all, there's still some fear, though she supposes that's what makes it so attractive in the first place. Like when people have sex in public. Not that she's had much sex in public. Or in general, despite Puck's numerous offers to help her with that "bad case of horniness the preggo chicks get when their hormones are crazy and shit". (She also can't even think of the word hormone without hearing him say, "You know how to make a hormone? Don't pay her.")

She's willing to forgo the worry and ride the wave of fitting in until she walks into her Government classroom and remembers how Jackson Donnelly is a person who exists, not only here, but in her past.

Class begins and there's a security in the sound of collective note taking, but one casual glance to the right reveals Jackson staring at her, then looking away just as they make eye contact. The first time, it's a weird coincidence, but by the time the bell rings, there have been at least a half dozen occurrences.

Now Quinn's paranoid because she know's there's no way out, that she can't ditch him, because he knows she's heading for the lockers and damn it all if this isn't an all boys' school and she can't escape into the ladies' room and hide until the next bell. That's her former, now retired tactic, anyway.

At this point, isn't it time to man up, or something?

"Jackson," she says, greeting him as they both wait for the students in front of them to file out the door.

"Hey!" His smile is bright and he doesn't look at all like someone on a mission to expose her. "I was thinking about something."

"Yeah?"

"You said your last name's Fabray, right?"

Or maybe he's just always this happy when he blackmails people. "...Yeah, it is."

The line in front of them disperses and he follows Quinn as she moves for the door. "Okay, so, I'm thinking Fabray. Fabray. Quinn Fabray. There's something about this name."

Her jaw sets, the way it always does when she's trying to keep her emotions in check. This can't be over already. Maybe she can reason with him. Or just lie. Or hide his body in a locker. "What about it?"

"Isn't it obvious? Quinn Fabray. Jackson Donnelly."

"We-" _Knew __each __other __at __Bellville__._

"We're Irish!" His hand slaps her back and knocks her forward a step.

She manages to hold on to her books and corrects her footing so she doesn't faceplant in the middle of the hallway. "Yes. We... sure are." There's a lame punch to his shoulder to punctuate the fact, of which she does not understand the relevance.

"So...?" He looks as if he's waiting for some further reply.

"We're... on the St. Patty's Day committee?"

Jackson laughs, like that's the most hilarious thing anyone's said all day. "No, boxing club. You should sign up. We need at least fifteen people for approval."

Boxing. Club. As in, a club for boxing.

"Is it like a fight club?"

He laughs, again. "You're funny, man. Seriously, though, have you ever boxed?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well, think about it. Small guys like you make really good fighters. Not that it's about fighting. It's actually all about strategy."

She can't help but recognize the need to defend the sport. He's using the same tone she ones used to defend the athletic merits of cheerleading. "Why do you even think I'd be good at it? Just because of the Irish thing?"

"Maybe. That and Fightin' Fabray sounds pretty badass." He doesn't offer any further explanation. "It's just a club, not a team. The district won't approve high school boxing because it's too barbaric."

This also conjures up memories of Cheerios, only instead of a parallel, it's a complete juxtaposition. If some people only knew... "I'm still kind of settling into my routine. But... I'll think about it."

"Awesome." He catches sight of another classmate and claps a hand on Quinn's shoulder as he steps away. "I'll catch you in class, Quinn."

"Sure." She switches out her books and wonders if this whole exchange means she's in the clear.

* * *

><p>It's nearly ten-thirty and she's been asleep for about seven minutes, even though she was trying to make it through the first act of Othello (and the nodding off was a result of exhaustion, not boredom), when her cell phone rings and wakes her up.<p>

It's Rachel.

Quinn doesn't even bother to sit up or even raise her head from the pillow, she just puts the phone on speaker. "Hello?"

"Quinn?"

"Yeah."

"I've been reviewing your audio file since I returned home from ballet and after careful evaluation, I'm going to suggest you-"

"Wait."

"I'm sorry?"

"Isn't your class over at, like, eight?"

"Yes."

"You don't mean you spent all this time watching those videos, do you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Quinn's hand wraps around the phone and she switches the call to the handset before holding it to her ear. "That's two hours."

"If you're concerned that I haven't spent enough time with this evaluation, I'd be happy to sleep on it, though I am fairly confident I'll feel the same way in the morning."

"No, Rachel. I just meant you didn't have to do that. Like, that's a lot of time."

"Whenever I select a new audition song, I evaluate my own recordings over a forty-eight hour window. Granted, I usually give myself between six and eight selections from which to dr-"

"I get it."

"I just believe in thorough preparation."

"I know."

"So, which one?"

There's a pause on the line, then Rachel says. "The first one."


	8. Chapter 8

8

By her third day, she's already feeling secure in her routine.

If Jackson remembers Lucy Caboosey, he's not drawing any parallels to Quinn. Instead, he mentions how much she reminds him of his cousin, Pete.

"You kind of look alike. And some of the stuff you say sounds like something he'd say."

"Really? I hope he's not an asshole."

He laughs, like he does about sixty-seven percent of the time she says anything. "He's not."

Quinn nods and accepts the comparison. If she's reminding someone of some other guy they know, then she's doing this right. "Then, okay. That's cool."

"You give any more thought to Boxing Club?"

She actually has. At first, she was ready to dismiss it because, holy crap, Boxing Club. It sounds like the kind of barbaric thing Puck would be into. But then, there is an appeal to the freedom of being able to actually take out her aggression, maybe not so much on another person, but the training and sparring practice seem like a great outlet. Plus, there is the fact that she's a fitness junkie.

"Maybe a little," she admits.

"Yeah?" Jackson's face lights up. This guy is really into boxing. "Any questions about anything?"

"Um," they're supposed to be working on an in-class assignment, but an investigative glance at Mr. Bachman suggests that he's not the strictest enforcer. "It's not a team, so what do you guys actually do?"

"Physical training, strategy, and friendly sparring. No formal matches. Really, it's just for anyone who wants to learn the ropes against the ropes." He grins at his phrasing. "Last semester, we had a really good turnout because The Fighter had just come out. But everyone has a short attention span."

"Oh. I didn't see it."

"What?" The look on Jackson's face tells her she's not only violating some code of potential boxer brotherhood, but general guy code, as well. "If you have Netflix, go home and watch it. Don't even do anything else."

"Okay." She actually likes Mark Wahlberg in movies, and she's suddenly reminded of the time Puck made her watch The Departed when she was staying with him and now all she can think about is how many people's heads exploded in the course of that film. And then she wonders if that's the kind of thing guys talk about.

The bell rings before she really has a chance to think about it.

* * *

><p>Tonight she swaps running for bicycle crunches and push-ups, because she needs to practice her audition song. It's a familiar tune, something she already knows, but she's worried her voice might sound too feminine. This is the part Rachel can't help her with. At least not directly.<p>

She opens her laptop, trying to think of the perfect cover question, when she spots a new message in her inbox. The subject line reads i_What__I__did__on__my__summer__vacation__/__i_ and the sending address is . When she opens the email, there's no text in the body, just a half dozen attached photos of a little girl, fifteen months old and counting (she doesn't have to estimate the age because she knows, she always knows). The pictures are from a trip to the beach, which means most of them include an adorable pair of baby sunglasses.

She opens the desk drawer and grabs the digital picture frame that sits inside. The pictures load quickly and she allows herself one pass through the images already loaded in the frame before she dumps it back in the drawer. The message is forwarded to puckasaurus_, then dragged into a folder she rarely ever opens.

Quinn's always been good at compartmentalizing. This is no different.

She decides she doesn't need Rachel's help, after all.

* * *

><p><em>It's somewhere around one on Friday morning, the week of her Dalton interview. Quinn's nervous about her acceptance letter and Santana's always the best person to call when she wants to be distracted. They've managed to pilfer enough of Judy's scotch to end up in the backyard, lying on the grass.<em>

_Quinn's pleasantly drunk and Santana's somewhere in the zone. Despite any previously assigned archetypes, neither one is angry or sad. They're actually giggling, reminiscing about freshman cheer camp._

_"No, okay," Santana drops her hand onto Quinn's arm. "Remember there was that one girl who was a total slut?"_

_"You?"_

_"Fuck off. No. Her name was... something with a 'G' like Gwen or maybe it was a 'J'..."_

_"I don't know who you're talking about."_

_"Rebecca!"_

_"That's not a 'G' thing. Thang." Quinn's arm shoots up in the air, but Santana smacks it down. "Ain't nothin' bu-"_

_"You're too white to say those things."_

_"Finish talking about the sluts."_

_"I don't remember what I was saying."_

_"Good, because I was bored."_

_"Get away from me." Santana shoves Quinn's shoulder and keep pushing until the other girl rolls all the way over._

_They were giggling before, but now Quinn's laughing so hard, she can't stop._

_"You're gonna wake up Judy." But it's contagious and Santana's shaking with laughter, too._

_The moment finally subsides and they're reduced back to the occasional giggle when Quinn calms herself with a deep breath and flops back over, landing on her side so she's facing Santana._

_"Do you think they had sex?"_

_"Who? The sluts? Yes. Learn what a word means, Fabray."_

_"I know what sluts are." Quinn yanks up a handful of grass and flings it at Santana. "I was talking about Finn and Rachel."_

_"When?"_

_"While they were dating."_

_"No, when were we talking about them?"_

_"Right now!" Quinn reaches for more grass, but Santana grabs her wrist._

_"I don't know. She still seems like a big virgin to me."_

_"I guess." She tries to tug her arm away, but Santana maintains a secure hold. "Nothing wrong with that, though."_

_"You just want to tap that."_

_"She's cute." She even smiles at the thought, because the lubrication of the liquor's left her a little shameless._

_"Ew. She's annoying." Santana discards Quinn's arm in mock disgust. "Anyway, I knew it. I knew it a long ass time ago."_

_"That she's annoying? Wow, revelation of the century."_

_"That you liked her, smartass. My gaydar is amazing. I should rent that shit out."_

_"You're so full of shit."_

_"Am I? You've been obsessed with her since forever."_

_"Not obsessed."_

_"Obsessed. Like, for a while I thought you wanted to wear her skin as a mask or something."_

_Quinn sits straight up. "EW."_

_"Imagine how I felt! Anyway, it's totally fine now that I know you just want to get your fingers wet."_

_"You're disgusting."_

_"Aw, sweetie. It's okay. You're still growing into your lesbo loving tendencies." Santana blindly pats her on the back, but Quinn jerks her body away, which just ends up with her falling back over to the ground._

_"Leave me alone," she says against the grass._

_"Oh, deal with it." Santana rolls to her side and slings an arm around Quinn. "I'm the one who has to accept that my best friend is hot for the Hobbit. Especially when I'm totally single and a million times hotter. And I speak Spanish. Have you heard me roll my R's?"_

_Quinn pulls Santana's arm tighter around her. "We'd kill each other."_

_"That doesn't mean it wouldn't be hot."_

_Fortunately for Quinn (who might be embarrassed to be found passed out on the back lawn, in what could appear to be a compromising position with her best friend), the sprinklers wake them up before Judy's even out of bed._


	9. Chapter 9

9

At exactly five-thirty on Thursday morning, she receives a Facebook inbox alert on her phone.

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry** sent at 5:30am  
>What time is the audition? And good morning! :)<p>

Quinn's already up, because she has to leave by six. Still, the message catches her off guard, because who the hell is on Facebook this early (unless they're still awake from the night before), especially during their last week of summer vacation?

**Quinn ****Fabray** sent at 5:31am  
>What are you even doing up, right now? And it's not until four.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry** sent at 5:32am  
>I've taken to songwriting in the early morning. I advise a balanced breakfast to start your day, so you aren't fatigued by the afternoon.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry** sent at 5:32am  
><span>http<span>:/www.webmd.com/diet/features/many-benefits-breakfast

**Quinn ****Fabray** sent at 5:33am  
>I'm aware of the benefits of proper nutrition, thank you.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry** sent at 5:34am  
>Just wanted to help! I'm fully aware of the stress that comes hand in hand with anticipated audition dates.<p>

**Quinn****Fabray** sent at 5:36am  
>Thanks.<p>

**Rachel****B****. ****Berry** sent at 5:36am  
>:)<p>

**Quinn****Fabray** sent at 5:37am  
>I need to finish getting ready.<p>

The next message doesn't come until the latter half of fourth period. Quinn feels the buzz of the phone in her pocket (because, _pockets_, actual functional pocketsare awesome) but they're in the middle of a lecture and she has to wait for the right window to check whatever's incoming. About a minute later it buzzes again. And then again, a few minutes later.

Finally, they receive instruction to read from their textbooks for the remainder of the class and Quinn pulls the phone out under her desk.

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry** sent at 12:01pm  
>Avoid dairy during lunch.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry** sent at 12:02pm  
>Also, soda. If you can drink water or hot tea, that would be ideal.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry** sent at 12:07pm  
><span>http<span>:/www.wikihow.com/Prepare-and-Relax-Vocal-Chords-Prior-to-and-During-Singing

**Quinn****Fabray** sent at 12:12pm  
>I'm in class.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry **sent at 12:13pm  
>Oh. Sorry. :|<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry** sent at 12:13pm  
>But the Crawford website says lunch is at noon.<p>

**Quinn ****Fabray** sent at 12:14pm  
>Oh. Well, lunch here is at 12:30.<p>

**Quinn****Fabray** sent at 12:14pm  
>I swear to god, if you send me the link, I will block you.<p>

**Quinn ****Fabray** sent at 12:28pm  
>I didn't mean that.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry **sent at 12:29pm  
>Enjoy your lunch, Quinn.<p>

She makes it through lunch and the remainder of her classes without another message. There's a part of her that worries maybe she pissed Rachel off and while that was once her biggest hobby and greatest achievement, it wasn't what she wanted to do now.

After her last class, she's dragging a little and her first thought is coffee, but she opts for green tea (with honey) from the beverage cart outside Turner Hall. She spends the window of time before her audition taking a walk around the campus and wondering if she should send back a reply to Rachel or not.

Before she makes an executive decision, her pocket vibrates.

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry **sent at 03:47pm  
>Don't do that thing where you slip into your head voice. Try your best to keep it middle voice range, especially with that song, because it's lower and you sound better that way because when you go higher you tend to get nasal.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry **sent at 03:47pm  
>Just a friendly critique.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry **sent at 03:47pm  
>And remember to smile.<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry **sent at 03:48pm  
>And break a leg.<p>

**Quinn ****Fabray** sent at 03:50pm  
>Thanks. :)<p>

**Rachel ****B****. ****Berry **sent at 03:51pm  
>:)<p>

Her audition song is a Motown classic, something well within her comfort zone, which was key, given that she had so many other things to worry about on top of just singing well enough to make the cut.

This year's trifecta of upperclassmen chosen to oversee the club's activities is: Blaine, Wes, and some guy named Nick she hasn't met until now. She kind of wishes it was a panel of strangers responsible for determining her fate, because it would be a lot easier not to care as much about the outcome.

Also, this is a public process. All returning members aren't required to audition, at least not formally, and they're present for each potential new member's performance. Quinn actually appreciates this, because there's no point auditioning for show choir if you're just going to freeze up in front of an audience. It also generates both a sense of camaraderie and competition, which explains a lot about the Warblers, already.

But even that's a little unnerving. Perhaps it's her experience at the hands of Sue Sylvester, but she feels like this would almost be easier if she were trying to land a spot on Vocal Adrenaline. At least she'd know what to expect.

She's number four out of eleven who are hoping to make the cut and the first two guys are good, but number three is nothing short of amazing and Quinn mentally kicks herself for even thinking she should be here, right now. Still, when Blaine calls her name, she rises from her seat and shifts into a mode was formerly reserved for things like Cheerios and semi-formal events at the country club (she absently realizes her mom probably won't be pushing her to do the debutante ball, anymore).

This is her _Confidence __or __Bust_ setting.

And it always starts with a smile.

"Hi, I'm Quinn and I'll be singing _What Becomes of the Brokenhearted_ as originally recorded by Jimmy Ruffin_._"

"Motown," Blaine says, looking to his two counterparts. "Very cool."

Wes smiles at her. "Whenever you're ready."

She takes a breath and there's that "feels like forever" lull between when you know you're about to do something and when you actually do it, but then she's singing and everyone's listening. There's also this unnerving thing about the Warblers which is both cool and creepy all at once. It's like they know every song and, just like they have with the other auditions, by the time Quinn hits the chorus, they're chiming in and filling the empty spaces in the song. It makes sense, since they're an a capella choir, she just wasn't expecting this.

The song comes to a close and the group offers up a warm round of applause, just as they have for everyone else.

She takes her seat and politely listens to all the other contenders, desperately resisting the urge to dig out her phone and turn it back on (shutting it off had been a safety precaution given the rest of the day) so she can tell Rachel that it's done and how she actually feels pretty good about it.

Finally, the last song is over and she's already picking up her bag, but Blaine holds up a hand to silence the rustling in the room. "Hold on, guys. There's just one more thing. I know we said we'd post the list tomorrow by lunch, but..." He sighs and looks from Wes to Nick, then back up at the room. "We realized that just wasn't an appropriate amount of time to make a decision."

Ten young men and one young woman all collectively exhale in frustration, but Blaine's not finished.

"Which is why we'd like you to know... everyone who auditioned today is now a member of the Dalton Academy Glee Club. Welcome to the Warblers!"

"That's it," she hears herself asking.

Wes nods and smiles at her and the rest of the group. "That's it. Everyone who auditions for the club is accepted. That's the tradition. You will have to re-audition for solos, if you want them, but as of right now, everyone in this room is a member. Congratulations."

* * *

><p>When she gets back to Lima, all Quinn wants to do is drive to Rachel's house and give her the biggest damn hug of her life. But she can't.<p>

So she does the next best thing.

* * *

><p><strong>Quinn <strong>**Fabray** sent at 07:53pm

http:/www.hug-o-matic.com/


	10. Chapter 10

10

It's practically eleven and there's still no response from Rachel. Quinn doesn't even admit to herself that she's been hovering over her Facebook inbox ever since she got home until her phone rings and she practically falls off her bed trying to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Rachel." There's an oddly abrupt quality to the way she ends the sentence, almost like she was planning to say "Rachel _Berry_" and Quinn wonders if maybe Rachel doesn't make a whole lot of repeat phone calls to people.

"I know." She follows that up with a casual, "What's up?" trying hard not to sound like someone who almost did a face plant onto her own bedroom floor.

"My dads and I went out to take in a community theatre production of _Oklahoma_."

"...Okay."

"Which is why I'm just now replying to your message. I take the virtual expression of affection to mean that things went well today?"

"Yeah. They did. Awesome, actually."

"When will you find out if you made the cut?

"I already did. I mean, there were no cuts. Everyone's accepted after they audition." It's not until right now that she realizes that actually makes her sound kind of lame for even getting so worked up about it in the first place. Although, her primary concern had been more about maintaining her cover than being good enough.

"Well, they're lucky to have you."

"Thanks." She wonders how proud Rachel would be if she knew they weren't talking about Crawford Country Day.

"I guess this means I technically now have to consider you the competition."

"Guess so." The phone buzzes in her hand and she pulls it away from her ear to see a text from Santana.

_Tell __me __you __just __saw __that __Chelsea __Lately __monologue__._

She switches the phone to speaker and replies to the message. _On __the __phone __with __Berry__._

Rachel's voice is tinny through the speaker. "In all honesty, however, I don't consider Crawford to actually be much of a threat. Even though New Directions didn't rank nationally, we're still leagues ahead of them."

_Phone__sex__? _appears on the screen.

"Uh huh." She really tries to listen, but putting Santana in her place is always a priority. _Shut up. We're barely even friends. And she's not even into girls._

The lull in the conversation that occurs while Quinn types is apparently interpreted by Rachel as disinterest. "It's late. You probably want to sleep and I shouldn't keep you."

"I... yeah, maybe I should go." She doesn't want to, but it _is _kind of late.

"I hope y- Hold on, I have a text." There's a beat of nothing, then, "That's strange."

"What?"

"It's... I'm actually attempting not to spread gossip, anymore. But as you're someone who might be able to offer some insight, perhaps you can tell me why Santana would solicit me for a Sapphic encounter?"

"Why she...? What? Why would I know that?" Her thumbs move in a frenzy against the phone screen. _What __the __hell __are __you __doing__?_

"You've known her much longer than I have. And up until this point in time, I've had no reason to believe she would be interested in me."

_Relax__, __Quinnsanity__. __I __just __asked __if __she __wants __to __make __out__._

All at once, Quinn's furious, confused, and curious. But she's on Honor Roll and in AP classes and she's managed to infiltrate Dalton, so it doesn't take more than a few seconds to figure out what Santana's doing.

"Well..." She braces herself for the answer before she even asks the question. "Are you into her?"

The laugh that comes through the phone is cause for both relief and terror. "No! That's absurd. Not at all."

Her heart sinks a little, even though she swears she was never really that invested in the idea in the first place. "Right, because you're not..." She doesn't want to actually have to say it.

"... into people who have needed to be physically restrained while threatening my life on more than one occasion?" Rachel finishes. "Don't get me wrong, Santana's aesthetically very beautiful and I understand the physical appeal. But I wouldn't be able to make out with someone if I were to be preoccupied by the thought that I might be repeatedly stabbed with a nail file at any moment."

"That's why? Because she's borderline homicidal? Not... for any other reason?"

There's a pause from the other end of the line. "If you're asking if it's because she's a girl, that's ridiculous."

"So you're open. To that."

"I'm open to experiences. Just not the ones that may likely result in the premature ending of my young life."

"Huh."

"Quinn?"

Her hear stops for just a moment, because she's convinced Rachel's about to ask if _**she**__**'**__**s**_ open and she's already trying to decide what her answer should be. "Yeah?"

"It's late. Go to sleep."

"Right. Night, Rachel."

The call ends and Quinn sends one more message.

_I __hate __you__, __you __crafty __bitch__. 3_

* * *

><p>It's Friday and the end of her first week at Dalton.<p>

It's gone so well that she's in suspense waiting for something to happen, because it can't possibly be this easy. It's not even that everything's perfect, there are a couple guys who already don't like her. She's not sure why, because they haven't really said anything and they definitely haven't done anything because of the zero tolerance policy. But she assumes it's because she's new and even if they can't pinpoint it, they know she's different. She knows this because it's exactly the same subconscious approach she once used to target people.

She has friends, though. Or she's working on them. Blaine's a given, and his circle of buddies have already included her.

Currently, she's bonding with Jackson before the first Boxing Club meeting is called to order. She's decided to give it a shot, but she's still nervous about it. Today's purely introductory, however, so there's no chance of getting her nose broken (okay, why was she doing this, again?) until next week.

"What do you mean you haven't watched it?" Jackson's asking about _The __Fighter_.

"I haven't had time! It's the first week. And I'm the new kid. And I had to prepare for the Warblers audition."

"Okay, the Warblers thing is pretty cool. I'll give you that. But if you come back on Monday and tell me you still haven't... I'm... then you're lame."

Quinn laughs. "Deal."

* * *

><p>The club advisor is a short, wiry guy named Mr. Goodman. He's the health teacher, but Quinn's already completed all those credits, so she hasn't seen him until today. His introduction is fairly short, the main points being that this is about conditioning and strategy, not actual matches.<p>

"When we get to sparring, you do it clean. No funny business. Clear?" The group nods in confirmation. "All right. Monday, Wednesday, Fridays, three to four-thirty. You don't have to be here every day or for the whole time, but you do have to log four hours of conditioning before you step into my ring. Clear?" Again, more nods. "Good. Now, get the hell out of here. It's Friday and it's still summertime."

Quinn decides to run as soon as she gets home, so she can get a jump on her weekend, starting with a movie night with Santana, Kurt, and Blaine (and yes, _i__The__Fighter__/__i_ made the list, because no one else has seen it either).

The earlier start time means the sun's still hanging well above the horizon and it's still warm enough out to make her regret needing to wear the hoodie up over her head. Just as she's debates pulling it down, she rounds the corner to Rachel's street and spots a short form spraying a sedan with a garden hose.

Rachel Berry is washing a car.

Not only is she washing a car, but she's doing so in the shortest shorts Quinn has ever seen on the girl and a damp yellow t-shirt. Fortunately, she catches herself staring before Rachel even notices her, so she shuts her mouth and casually approaches, hands in her hoodie pockets, lingering on the sidewalk.

"Hey."

"Quinn! You're out early today."

"I actually started at my regular time, but I made such good time, I went backwards." Rachel laughs and Quinn's really glad that she does. "What are you doing?"

"Uh," Rachel waves a soapy sponge at the car. "Washing a car. I would think private school should hone your deductive reasoning skills." It's a jab, playful and wordy, and Quinn appreciates it.

"Okay, but why?" The Berry's have never seemed to be lacking for anything, so she wonders why they don't just take the cars somewhere to have them cleaned.

Rachel shrugs. "Don't you do chores for your allowance?"

Chores? Rachel Berry does chores? She never would have guessed. "I... don't actually." There's always been money when she needed it, either from her parents or the eBay sales of Cheerios swag.

"I suppose that makes sense," Rachel muses. She dips the sponge in the bucket at her feet and begins soaping up the car.

"I'm not spoiled," is Quinn's automatic defense.

"I didn't say you are."

"You were thinking it."

"Was I?" Rachel's head tilts to the side as she looks back at Quinn. "First you time travel and now you're psychic?"

"Maybe I am."

There's a moment where nothing happens. Once it passes, Quinn finds herself getting sprayed with the garden hose.

"HEY!" She ducks away from the stream, worried about her iPod getting wet.

"If you were psychic, you would have seen that coming." Rachel smirks at her and taps her fingers against the trigger of the nozzle, as if contemplating another shot.

"If you were taller, you could actually wash the top of that car," Quinn shoots back, already putting more distance between them.

Rachel takes aim and fires, but she's well out of range. With a wave, Quinn resumes her run, pleased with herself at getting the last word.

Even if her socks are soaked.


	11. Chapter 11

11

Rachel's having a Back to School party. This was apparently decided around noon, when she realized her dads were taking an impromptu overnight trip to Columbus to see an art show.

Right now, it's four-thirty and Kurt is splayed across Quinn's bed, trying desperately to convince her that she should go. She can't run, because he's giving her a manicure (she might be attending to Dalton, but that doesn't mean her nails have to go to shit).

"It'll be fun."

"No, it'll be weird. And I don't want to have to explain all this." Her hand runs over her hair.

"How long do you possibly think you can avoid everyone?"

"Forever."

Kurt hums in disapproval, then discards one hand for the other. There's not a lot he can do if there isn't any polish involved. "What if it's a wig party?"

"A... what like the political thing?" Quinn doesn't know how that's at all relevant.

Kurt stops and stares at her. "Who are you?"

"Someone banking on an academic scholarship to get her the hell out of here."

"Touche."

"But I'm guessing you meant, like... wigs."

"Mmhmm. If you're so worried about the attention, we'll take it off of you and put it on everyone. Oldest trick in the book."

"I thought the oldest trick was the one where you picture everyone naked."

"Honey, if that's what you want to do when you get there, go ahead."

"You think Rachel will go for it?"

"A chance to dress up and ultimately make everyone else miserable? Yes."

* * *

><p>The idea actually goes over better than either of them imagined. Just about everyone has some sort of wacky Halloween wig they're willing to dig out and maybe it's just the spirit of the end of summer, but everyone looks like they're having fun and Puck's still working on unlocking the liquor cabinet.<p>

Quinn's wearing her Magenta wig from Rocky Horror and her skirt is something actually akin to a piece from Rachel's wardrobe, as it's plaid and pleated. Really, she'd rather be in jeans, but after Kurt points out that if she femmed up a little, she could get away with wearing a tie and none would be the wiser, she figures the skirt isn't so bad.

In the end she looks like she's on her way to some anime cosplay party (which she knows about from the internet, not personal experience), although she's opted for low top Chuck Taylors instead of thigh high hooker boots. Though, she probably could have borrowed those from Santana.

"Goddamn, Q." These are the first words out of Santana's mouth when she sees her.

"Shut up." It's involuntary, really. Like it has to be the first thing out of her mouth whenever she sees her friend.

Brittany tugs at the tie. "She's right, Quinn. You look really hot."

Quinn bats at her hand. "I'm not getting drunk tonight, so stop planning that threesome in your head."

"Ladies, ladies, ladies." Puck drapes his arms around the two blonde former cheerleaders. Except, right now, one has purple hair and the other is sporting a rainbow afro. "You can't possibly be throwing around the three word without me." His own mohawk is hidden under a mullet that suits him in the most disturbing way possible.

"We are," Santana replies, whipping her hair out of her eyes. She's cheated and just has some green Hot Topic extensions clipped in her hair. Quinn's dead set on getting her to wear Kurt's Bride of Frankenstein wig by the end of the night. "I thought you were unlocking the booze."

Puck gestures to the bar, and lo and behold, the bottles are out. "Try to drink the cheap stuff, because I'm the one who has to replace it."

Everyone a little more reserved than the last time they were here, the memory of the aftermath from last spring is not forgotten. Still, a couple rounds of Quarters later and Brittany's gyrating to the music. At least this time she's giving Santana a lap dance, though she's not sure if that's progress or regression because they're still not in any kind of dating zone with each other. Whatever, though, it's not her problem.

"Quinn. I hope you're having a good time." Rachel's next to her, drinking something out of a red cup, but she still seems pretty solid on her feet.

"Yeah, I am." Quinn nods and flicks her finger through the angled cut of the Barbra Streisand wig. "You look weird blonde."

"Not all of us can pull it off on a daily basis. I like your hair. It reminds me of a unicorn."

Quinn remembers how Rachel doesn't know certain things about her. Not that she ever forgot, but this just another reason why she shouldn't even be here. For so long she was totally fine with putting forward whatever version of herself needed to be seen. But after even just a week of feeling _right, _even though she was still conforming to something that wasn't necessarily her, anything else really felt like a cheap substitute.

"It's not my natural color."

"Funny," is the response as Rachel's eyes dart to the wig.

"I mean it." It's silly that now she's trying to convince her of something she's kept to herself for so long.

"Well, I like it. So keep doing it," Rachel says from around her straw.

"What are you drinking?"

"Um, blue."

"Sounds good."

"You should have some."

"I'm cool. But thanks." There's no way she's getting drunk and doing something stupid. Again.

Not that she doesn't trust this group, at this point. Mostly, she doesn't trust herself to keep her own mouth shut. And while that may not be as life altering as growing another human inside her body for nine months then giving the baby away and dealing with a summer of post-partum at sixteen, she'd still like to keep the drama to a minimum.

"We should talk." Before Quinn can ask her what she wants to talk about, Rachel's dragging her toward the stairs and urging her to sit.

"Hey, you know what? I changed my mind. Can I try that?" she asks, reaching for Rachel's cup. It's still at least half full and if she keeps drinking it at the rate she is now, she'll probably be on the floor in twenty minutes. Rachel happily passes the drink to her and Quinn takes one sip, then casually sets the cup down, out of the other girl's reach. "What'd you want to talk about?"

"School starts next week."

"For you, yeah."

"I know. But you won't be there."

"Yeah."

Rachel's head somehow ends up on her shoulder. It's not really that intimate, given that they're in the middle of a party and Quinn's arm is awkwardly sandwiched between them. Still, it's something new. "Do you like your new school?"

"I love it."

"Oh. I was kind of hoping all those Crawford girls were bitches and you'd just come back."

Maybe this is the right time. Maybe this is her window, a chance to just be honest. Except Rachel's drunk. Or maybe that's a benefit. "Hey, Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

Before she says anything else, she takes lengthy sip of the blue stuff. "I, um... I don't go-" But that's as far as she gets, because suddenly Puck's standing in front of them, holding out his hands to help them up off the steps.

"Is it time?" Rachel asks.

Puck nods. "Oh yeah."

"Time for what? We're not playing stupid Spin the Bottle again, are we?" That would probably be the best and worst thing to happen to her, right now.

The second she's on her feet, Rachel's arm is looped through hers and she's being pulled toward the bar. There's a cake in the shape of a school bus sitting on the bar top. It's actually not a cake, but one of those cupcake cake things that never quite looks like what it's supposed to be. But the sentiment is intact because the words "We'll miss you, Q in red because that's her power color" are clear as day in an unappealing black frosting.

The fact that her friends, the ones she's avoided for half the summer, have just sprung her very own cake wreck on her is overwhelming. She actually wants to leave because she can't handle the fact that she's lying to them, that she's not going to Crawford, that's she's living a double life undercover as a young gentleman who just joined boxing club. But she can't very well walk out on her own party. Not even a week at Dalton can erase years of debutante conditioning.

She smiles, thanks them, and joins in on the cupcakes. An hour later, she excuses herself to go home (church is always the prefect excuse to get out of Saturday night parties), and on the drive she manages to pull over and open the door just in time before she throws up yellow and black, with a hint of blue.

Lying has never been this difficult.

Maybe it's because she's finally just now figured out the truth.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Church has been a difficult thing. She likes going, she really believes in it, just like she truly thinks abstinence is a good idea because it keeps people from getting knocked up during their sophomore year. Her conversations with God haven't stopped or even slowed down. Changing schools and taking on an entirely new identity (or, really, shedding two or three) is actually cause for an increase in prayer.

But the actual act of going to church is a little more complicated. She's taken to wearing hats and slipping into the back row right before the service begins and ducking out just as it's ending so she doesn't have to actually talk to anyone. Judy's okay with this, because she doesn't have any answers for anyone who might be asking.

It hasn't been too bad for most of the summer. The only person she really knows from both church and McKinley is Sam and he's been working as a summer camp counselor for the last six weeks so Stacy and Stevie could attend the same camp for free.

Except now the summer's over and just about every other school starts this week so, of course, Sam's in church. He actually follows her in, siblings in tow and slips into the rear pew next to her.

"Hey," he whispers.

"Hi," she says, looking over at him with her eyes but keeping her head forward. She feels like the less she moves, the less he'll look at her.

The thing about Sam is, he never does what you expect him to. So, instead of minding his own damn business or telling Stevie not to fold the pew cards into origami, he's staring at Quinn. Then he opens his mouth. "I like it." At least he still manages to keep his voice hushed. "The hair."

Her head is covered with her fedora and at a glace or from a distance, anyone might think her hair is just pulled up. But Sam's up close and personal and for someone who misses a lot of the details, he sometimes catches just the right ones. Or the wrongs ones, depending.

She manages a, "Thanks." Then a nudge of the elbow. "Pay attention."

He faces forward, but then leans to his left, into her space. "If you do that eyebrow thing now, you'll totally look Vulcan."

It's there during the opening prayer that she realizes Sam isn't someone she needs to worry about.

After church, she reads Othello and does her cardio in her room.

There are no concerned messages from Rachel (or anyone) about her departure the party last night, because no one knows she was upset.

She kind of hates it.

* * *

><p>Monday afternoon is her first official meeting of boxing club. She's a little worried about changing after class (the very thing she'd managed to avoid in not having to take a phys ed course) so she already has a t-shirt on under her button up. And under the t-shirt is the compression shirt, so she's been hot under the collar nearly all day.<p>

She catches a break, because there are a handful of partitioned changing stalls (courtesy of Dalton's zero tolerance bullying policy) in the locker room. They don't have doors, but they offer a shred of privacy, which is all she needs to slip out of her slacks and into her track pants before she heads into the gym for an hour of glorious conditioning.

Mr. Goodman's no Sue Sylvester, but he has a stopwatch, seven pieces of workout equipment, and a set of free weights. That's enough for her.

When she gets home, she's a little bit sore but she's happy. There's no need to run tonight.

She tries not to think about whether or not Rachel notices.

* * *

><p>Tuesday is supposed to be the first Warblers meeting, but Wes is sick and one of the dorms is flooded, so they adjourn after five minutes and agree to exchange song ideas over Facebook. Blaine gets the bright idea to catch a ride with Quinn to The Lima Bean so he can meet up with Kurt for a while.<p>

"So, I'm thinking I really like what you brought with the Motown sound," Blaine says, attempting to sign the coffee receipt, but the cheap generic Staples ballpoint isn't working.

Quinn reaches into her pocket and hands him the silver pen her mom gave her last week. "It's a good sound. I think it would be really cool."

Blaine scribbles his signature on the ticket and instinctively slides the paper and pen back to the cashier.

Quinn's ordering her dirty chai when she hears Kurt's voice and she's about to turn to say hello when Blaine grabs her shoulders and forces her back the other way. "Don't turn around."

Before she can ask why, she knows. Because she hears Rachel's voice.

Quinn sidesteps as she waits for her order to come up, pretending to be exceedingly interested in the baked goods selection. She can't even process what Rachel and Blaine are talking about because she's so focused on being invisible.

"Sir. Excuse me."

Really, she should just leave, but the only way out has a Berry shaped individual placed strategically in her direct path.

"Sir." It's the barista. She pretends not to hear. "Sir, your pen."

"I don't think he hears you. That happens to me, sometimes. Usually when I'm rehearsing inside my head." Oh god, _**Rachel**_. "Here. It's a very nice pen. I'm sure he wants it back."

There's a tap on her shoulder. She can either book it out the door and never show her face in this particular coffee house again, or she can turn around. It still takes her a solid five seconds to make a decision.

One hundred and eighty degrees and she's either make a complete regression or amazing progress. She has no idea which one.

"Yes?" She figures simple is the best approach.

"It seems you left your pen at the counter. Mr.-" Rachel's not even looking up at her. She's looking at the damn pen, staring right at seven little letters etched into the barrel. "-Q. Fabray."

"Thanks." She carefully takes it out of Rachel's hand and Rachel easily lets her have it.

And then she really lets her have it. Right across the face. In front of Kurt, Blaine, the barista, everyone present for the four pm coffee rush. The slap's not too hard, though it knocks her glasses askew. It hurts, stings in that band aid removal kind of way. It needed to happen, but now there's that period where she just wants to swear because necessity or not, there's pain involved.

"You're a liar, Quinn Fabray."

The only response she has is, "I know."


	13. Chapter 13

13

True to form, Rachel makes a grand exit after the slap, leaving behind a wake of confused coffee shop patrons and one, less confused, blonde in a blue blazer and striped tie.

Quinn took about two steps after her before Kurt put out his arm and stopped her. "Let it go. At least for now. She'll probably just slap you, again."

"Some people are into that," Blaine offered, grunting when Kurt swatted at his stomach.

Later, when Quinn runs past Rachel's house, all the lights are off. It makes sense. She has ballet on Tuesdays.

* * *

><p><strong>Quinn Fabray<strong> sent at 07:50pm  
>I didn't know how to tell you.<p>

* * *

><p>She busies herself with homework until she can't keep her eyes open. Her subconscious totally fucks with her and gives her at least three micro dreams about waking up to an incoming message, but by the time her alarm goes off she's still exhausted and her inbox is still empty.<p>

She lags all day and once school's over, she doesn't feel like sticking around for boxing club.

Her phone sits in her lap the entire drive home, because even though she knows it's not safe to text and drive, she just doesn't want to miss any messages that might come through. Nothing does, though.

There's a temptation to drive past Rachel's, but she doesn't want to be creepy and she figures the girl will contact her when she's ready. That doesn't make the wait any less torturous.

When she gets home, there's an envelope tucked in the front door. The front just says "Quinn".

The edges are bedazzled.

Quinn dumps her bag by front door and drops onto the couch in the living room, carefully pulling open the flap on the envelope (she has to break the gold star seal in order to do so). Inside is a page of wide ruled loose leaf notebook paper, covered in Rachel's handwriting.

**Dear Quinn,**

**Please accept my apology for the public outburst of violence. While I feel I reserved the right to be angry at you in the moment, that was not the most mature expression of my feelings about the matter at hand.**

**Also, please understand that my anger in no way stems from your new found expression of identity. Kurt explained a little, but told me I should talk to you if I really wanted to know (I do, btw). I was, however, hurt by the fact that you felt you couldn't talk to me about it. I was under the impression that we were, perhaps, friends. I'm willing to accept that it may have been wishful thinking on my part.**

**I hope you're happy at Dalton.**

**Sincerely,**

**Rachel B. Berry**

**P.S. I like the glasses.**

Quinn doesn't bother to change into her workout clothes. She still makes it to Rachel's house in record time.

The bedroom light isn't on, but the living room curtains are open and she can see an episode of _Angel _on the living room television. She loosens her tie and shrugs off her blazer, draping it over her arm. It's still warm out and she's realizing that running half a mile when she could have driven is pretty ridiculous.

The doorbell isn't any kind of novelty tune, just a regular two tone indication that someone's waiting on the porch. The door opens and she's faced with the taller, darker Berry dad.

"Hi, uh, Mr. Berry. Is Rachel home?" She's met him before, just not like this.

He looks at her for at least seven seconds before saying, "Why don't you come in?"

She way too tired to run, so she nods and steps inside. Before she really has time to process anything, she's on the sofa, the television's turned off, and her blazer's on a coathook by the front door.

The house is quiet. "I take it Rachel's not actually here."

"She and her dad went out to pick up Chinese." He sits in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. "You've changed you look since I last saw you."

"Yeah. Um." She's not sure how deep she wants to get into it. "I did."

"Dalton's a good school."

"It is."

"All boys, though, isn't it?"

She nods. "I, uh... it's kind of a-"

He quickly put up his hand to stop her. "Hey, you know what? That's your business. I do want to ask something, though."

"Okay."

"I get the impression from Rachel that your family is pretty religious."

"Yes, sir."

"Have you... talked to anyone about this?"

"My mom knows I'm going to Dalton. She had to approve it."

"I meant about the... reason why you feel more comfortable at Dalton."

"Because no one knows I'm a failed prom queen? Or that my boyfriend dumped me at a funeral? Or that I have a kid out there, somewhere?" Quinn stares at the table in front of her. "Yeah, I have a therapist for that." She contemplates how weirdly easy it is to tell this stuff to someone she barely knows.

He sighs, but it seems to be out of concern rather than the parental desperation she picks up from her mother, sometimes. "A friend of mine runs a community club for high school students." His wallet emerges from his pocket and he slides a business card across the glass top of the coffee table.

Quinn doesn't even have to look at it to know what kind of club it is. She glaces at it, anyway. Sure enough, all six colors of the rainbow are featured in a strip across the bottom. "Thanks."

"It's an alliance. Straight kids go, too. Mostly just a safe space to talk about things. I know your school doesn't have one."

There's a pause before she asks, "Does Rachel go?"

He nods. "Never misses a meeting, if she can help it."

"Figures. She's hyper involved in everything. Like she has club activity ADD." She wonders if that's an acceptable thing to say.

It must be, because he laughs. "She's motivated to do i_everything/i_."

"I should... get home."

"I'll tell her you stopped by."

"She's mad at me. Maybe you shouldn't."

He looks like he's about to say something important, but then he just repeats, "I'll tell her you stopped by," with a little more emphasis.

She can't help but feel like there's something he isn't telling her.

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel B. Berry [9:16pm]<strong>

Hi.

**Quinn Fabray [9:16pm]**

Hey. I wasn't sure if you'd ever talk to me, again.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:17pm]**

Don't be so dramatic. That's more my forte.

**Quinn Fabray [9:17pm]**

Oh, are you? I couldn't tell by the slap you gave me.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:18pm]**

I apologized.

**Quinn Fabray [9:18pm]**

You did. And I'm sorry I didn't say anything to you.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:19pm]**

I understand. I just wish we had a more pronounced friendship, I suppose.

**Quinn Fabray [9:19pm]**

You're so weird.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:20pm]**

Does that mean you don't want to be friends?

**Quinn Fabray [9:20pm]**

I do! I just meant... who says "pronounced friendship." It's kind of... not average.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:21pm]**

You've known me long enough to realize I'm hardly average, Quinn.

**Quinn Fabray [9:21pm]**

Tell me about it.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:22pm]**

Well, when I was three months old, my fathers entered me in a dance competition and my life has never been the same.

**Quinn Fabray [9:22pm]  
><strong>No one's life is the same as it was when they were three months old.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:23pm]**

I meant artistically. Not physically. That's just ridiculous.

**Quinn Fabray [9:23pm]**

I'm not the one who owns a Bedazzler.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:24pm]**

Three, actually. And I simply prefer when things have a little extra pizazz.

**Quinn Fabray [9:24pm]**

Or a lot.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:25pm]**

There's nothing wrong with grand gestures.

**Quinn Fabray [9:25pm]**

Maybe not.

**Quinn Fabray [9:26pm]**

So... are we okay, again?

**Rachel B. Berry [9:27pm]**

We're we okay, before?

**Quinn Fabray [9:28pm]**

We were close to it.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:29pm]**

Then, yes.

**Quinn Fabray [9:30pm]**

Cool.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:31pm]**

:)

**Rachel B. Berry [9:37pm]**

What are you doing?

**Quinn Fabray [9:39pm]**

Homework.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:40pm]**

Which class?

**Quinn Fabray [9:40pm]**

Government.

**Rachel B. Berry [9:41pm]**

http.gov/

* * *

><p>On Thursday, she makes her first song pitch to the Warblers. She also offers up a very specific venue.<p>

"Don't you think it's a little early in the season for something like this?" Blaine asks. He's doing his best to discourage her, but there's a look in his eye that suggests he kind of likes the idea.

"It's informal, and there's never such a thing as too much practice," Quinn counters.

Wes considers what's being suggested. "I think we need to put it to a vote. All in favor of Quinn's idea?" He surveys the room. "Majority rules."


	14. Chapter 14

14

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

"_I need to talk to you."_

"_You could try calling. Or texting. Or skyping. Any one of those is preferred to you throwing a fucking rock through my window and pissing off my dad."_

"_They're Skittles, San."_

"_Are there any left or did you just waste totally perfect candy by being a complete dumbass?"_

"_It's a jumbo bag."_

"_I'll be right down."_

_The nights are still mild, so they sit on Santana's back porch and keep their voices low. It's only ten just after, but Mrs. Lopez wakes up early for her daily commute and Quinn's been around long enough to know not to tempt fate (or a sleeping Lopez, for that matter)._

"_So?" Santana's confiscated the bag and eats the candy in threes, preferably all different colors. She considers it equal opportunity._

"_So, what?"_

"_She knows."_

"_Yeah."_

"_And she doesn't care."_

"_I guess. She never actually said that. She said she wants to know more about everything."_

"_Which means she's not weirded out." Quinn shrugs and Santana responds by shoving half a dozen Skittles into her friend's mouth. "Stop moping around and just ask her out. Seriously. Promise me you'll do something proactive about this stupid crush you have."_

_Quinn chews and avoids saying anything until Santana pinches her leg. "OW! Fine! Okay!"_

"_The worst that will happen is she'll say no and that you're crazy for asking and stomp all over your heart and then you can begin the healing process."_

"_You're shitty best friend."_

"_I'm honest."_

"_You're obnoxious. Give me those."_

"_Fuck no. You gave up your rights to delicious bite-sized candies when you threw them at my house."_

* * *

><p><em>The next morning, she texts Santana while she's eating breakfast. The return message reads:<em>

**SANTANARAMA: u just interrupted my last 15 min of sleep. I fucking h8 u. What?**

_Quinn doesn't even flinch and punches in her reply:_

**QFAB (me): I have an idea, but it might be too much.**

**SANTANARAMA: r u fucking srs rn?**

**QFAB (me): You're supposed to be the supportive one.**

**SANTANARAMA: not at fucking 5 in the morning**

**QFAB (me): 5:30**

**SANTANARAMA: :|**

**QFAB (me): 3**

**SANTANARAMA: just remember that finn did that insane shit in nyc. u have 2 top that.**

**QFAB (me): So go big or go home?**

**SANTANARAMA: yes. and now go away so i can sleep.**

**SANTANARAMA: good luck. i h8 u.**

* * *

><p>When the Warblers adjourn, Blaine catches up to her in the hall. "Are you sure this is something you want to do?"<p>

"It scares the shit out of me, actually," she admits. "But I have to know."

"You could... just ask her."

"You can't _**just ask**_ Rachel Berry something like that." She wonders, though, if she is planning too big. Then she remembers Jesse St. James. "Yeah, no. This is what I need to do."

"Okay. We'll rehearse tomorrow afternoon." Blaine gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and she wonders if that's something she should start doing when she talks to guys like Jackson. But then she wonders if it's a gay guy thing or not, because she doesn't want to send mixed signals to anyone. At least, no more so than she already is.

"Yeah." Then she realizes something. "Crap, I'm never going to get my hours in for boxing club."

Blaine laughs. "You're something else, Quinn."

"I... okay."

"You don't hold back and you do what you need to do. That's admirable."

She shrugs. "I'm not doing anything special."

"You're..." He remembers they're in the middle of everyone else in the hall, so he refrains from specifics. "... being yourself in a way most people would never even dream about."

"I don't think _**most people **_want to be doing this."

"Don't underestimate yourself. You should be proud."

She figures it's easy for him to say something like that to her. He hasn't known her that long, he didn't know her when she was pregnant, and he's never dated her. Still, it's sweet of him. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

On the drive home, she gets a text:

**BLAINE ANDERSON: Pride.**

She thinks it's nice. But also a little weird.

* * *

><p>Friday comes and goes like a bad pop song and it's suddenly Saturday morning.<p>

Her first thought is that she needs to figure out what to wear, but then remembers they agreed to wear their uniforms (because Warblers always perform in their Dalton-wear). It's kind of weird, but it saves her the stress of picking something out.

She wonders if this is the stupidest thing she ever could have planned, because it seems dumb and sounds ridiculous. And given Santana's reaction on Thursday, she might just be out of her mind.

* * *

><p><em>The clock on the dashboard has worked it's way through two more numbers and Santana's still laughing while Quinn picks at her cheeseburger.<em>

"_Aw, come on, Q." Another titter. "It's not... the worst. It's actually good it's just..." And then it starts, again._

"_Whatever."_

"_No. Hey." Santana takes a couple breaths and manages to shake the giggles. Mostly. "I get it, okay. I sang to Britt, twice."_

"_And that worked out so well for you."_

"_Hey, she was putty in my hands. I was just an idiot."_

"_Mmhmm."_

"_Oh, fuck you."_

"_Sorry, I'm song stalking someone else."_

"_But we'd be so good together."_

"_Stop. It's weird when you do that. Especially with the eyebrows."_

"_Shut up, you're obsessed with me. Give me your fries."_

* * *

><p><em>Friday requires bicycle crunches <em>_**and**__ an extra long run, because she's bailed on too many afternoons of any kind of exercise._

_Rachel's not home on her initial pass, but on the return leg of her trip, she decides to back track and, sure enough, the light's on upstairs and she can actually see a brunette head through the window. She slows and gives herself a few seconds to catch her breath, but when she looks back up, she can't see Rachel, anymore._

_And then, as usual, she hears her name coming from some unexpected direction (well, the front door... but still, she wasn't prepared for it)._

"_Quinn."_

"_Hey." There's no need to keep a twenty foot buffer between them, at this point, and her hoodie's already down. She didn't even bother putting it up when she left the house. Her hands remain shoved in her sweatshirt pockets and she's stops at the bottom on the porch steps._

_Rachel's in the doorway, one shoulder pressed against the frame. "Daddy said he told you about alliance meetings."_

"_Yeah. Gave me a card and everything."_

"_You should come. I'll be there."_

"_Maybe." She's okay with going to Dalton. She's okay with pretending to be a guy eight hours a day, five day a week. She's okay with the fact that she likes Rachel, to the point where she's planning something that requires a rehearsal._

_But she's not sure how she feels about Pride Parades and PFLAG meetings, because that means it's something beyond just her, it's something people talk about. Which is stupid, she knows, because it'll come out, eventually. Had the incident gone any differently at The Lima Bean, things could be a lot worse._

_And she __**was**__ risking a lot by pulling the Warblers into some scheme to impress a girl (Rachel Berry, of all girls), but as far as they knew, she was just some awkward skinny guy who wanted to stack the cards in his favor and they were supportive and downright enthusiastic._

"_Do you want to talk about it?"_

"_If you want to."_

_Rachel moves onto the porch and sits on the top step and Quinn's plan to stay standing immediately changes as she lowers herself to sit next to her._

"_You knew all summer, didn't you? About Dalton?" Rachel asks._

"_Yeah. I had to do late admission. Mom had to sign off on stuff. I had to write, like, seven essays."_

"_Why didn't you tell me?"_

"_I didn't tell anyone except Kurt, at first." Quinn bent down to retie one of her sneakers. "Which meant I was also telling Blaine, but... that was all."_

"_What about Santana?"_

"_I told her later. After my last New Directions meeting."_

_Rachel nods, but it's a slow nod, like she's processing everything. "Oh." Her arms fold in front of herself and she rubs at her elbows._

"_I just needed to. For me." She pulls her iPod out of her hoodie pocket and sets it next to her on the step._

"_That was my initial assessment. Well, the initial one after I reacted with violence. It just was... unexpected." Rachel's arms tuck a little tighter around her body. There's a light but cool breeze in the air._

"_Well," she unzips the sweatshirt, "wait until I tell you the part where I joined the boxing club." The hoodie slips off her shoulders and down her arms and then it's draped over Rachel, blocking the breeze and bridging some kind of gap, but neither of them have any idea what that is, exactly. Not specifically. Not yet._

_Rachel laughs. "You did not."_

"_I did. I haven't really done much, yet. But... I don't know. Could be fun."_

"_You could get hurt." She looks directly at Quinn's nose. "What if you break something?"_

"_I've been around Santana long enough to hone my reflexes. Nobody's touching this."_

"_I don't know, Quinn. I got fairly close." Rachel's actually smirking at her and all Quinn can do is laugh._

"_You get one, Berry."_

_They chat for a few more minutes before Quinn grabs her iPod and heads home, claiming homework and plans with Kurt after Rachel asks if she wants to hang out. She feels awful about lying, but she has a plan and she needs to stick to it._

_Plus, there's something her mother often says about how it's better to "always leave them wanting more."_

_She just hopes Rachel wants what she has to offer in the first place._


	15. Chapter 15

15

"You sure you're ready for this?" This is the second time Blaine's asked her in the last ten minutes.

"I told you, already. Yes."

He brushes his hands over the shoulders of her blazer, making sure everything's crisp and devoid of lint. "I'd like to think my encouragement texts helped."

"Seriously, maybe one or two should have been your limit. I left my phone downstairs and my mom saw the message and thought it was in invitation to a Gay Pride rally or something. Then I had to sit through twenty minutes of her offering awkward support when all I wanted to do was watch Real Housewives."

They're at the rendezvous point, around the corner from Rachel's house. The last of the Warblers have shown up and it's time for her to give a final briefing before they actually execute her ridiculous plan.

"Okay guys, just like we rehearsed. It's the third house on the left." She digs her phone out of her jacket pocket. "I just need to make sure our audience is present and then we'll do this."

She knows Rachel's home today. During their chat the previous night, homework was mentioned as her major plans for Saturday. Still, she needs Rachel to be in her bedroom for this.

**Quinn Fabray [1:03pm]**

Hey. How's the homework?

**Rachel B. Berry [1:03pm]**

Just started about an hour ago, actually. Dads wanted to go to brunch.

**Quinn Fabray [1:04pm]**

Anything good playing on the iPod dock?

**Rachel B. Berry [1:04pm]**

It's always good. I have infallible taste in music. :)

**Rachel B. Berry [1:04pm]**

It's actually off, right now. Too hard to focus on the reading.

Perfect. Rachel was in her room with no distractions. "Okay, let's do this."

The Warblers are freakishly accurate with everything after a single rehearsal. Even though her hands are shaking so badly that the first penny she chucks at the bedroom window totally misses it by at least ten feet, Quinn's able to lose herself in the moment one the performance actually starts.

They're singing _Can I Get To know You Better_by The Turtles. The lyrics are an ideal match for what she's feeling and it's not overly sappy, but she figures a little sap is okay because this is Rachel she's dealing with and the girl is all about romance and larger than life demonstrations.

Judging from the look she's getting through the open window, Quinn figures she's doing this right, because Rachel has this goofy look of awe on her face.

Midway through the first chorus, the front door opens and the audience of one increases to three as the Berry dads poke their heads through the doorway. It's okay, though. She figured this might happen because it's near impossible to woo someone's daughter with a full song and dance production without drawing attention to herself.

They close out the song and she's feeling fucking amazing, relieved, and hopeful because this might just actually work. Rachel's grinning down at her, the dads aren't chasing her off the lawn, and she knows she's taken a huge step toward something.

She glances at Blaine. "That went pretty well, right?"

"Yeah. But, uh..." He's looking up at the window. "You might want to..."

"What?" She turns to look back at Rachel. And then she notices there's someone else in the room with her. Someone tall. Someone who definitely shouldn't be there.

_Finn._

It takes an hour for someone to find her. She's not technically hiding, but she's a damn good runner and she had a good lead on anyone who opted to follow her (probably just Blaine and he's more sports fan than actual athlete).

"Quinn."

It's the only voice she wants to hear, right now. But it's also the one she'd rather avoid.

"What?" She's on a bench in the park, bent over with her head in her hands.

"Why'd you run?" Rachel casually sits next to her, but Quinn keeps looking at the ground.

She's not crying, mostly because she's just angry with herself, more than anything. "That's a stupid question."

"Is it? After a song like that, I was under the impression you might want to discuss something with me."

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it? Not if you two are..." She didn't even want to say it because it made her sick.

"Who? You mean... Finn?"

She finally looks up, because Rachel's playing dumb and it's pissing her off. "Yeah. Finn. Your on again, off again ex-boyfriend. I guess you're back on." It's right about now that she recognizes the sweatshirt on the girl in front of her.

"He came over for help with our Lit assignment. He has difficulty with iambic pentameter and I suggested we read aloud together to see if it made a difference." Rachel sighs and tightly tugs on one of the sweatshirt strings. "So far, it hasn't."

"Oh." Quinn feels like an idiot. For all of it. She seriously considers never expressing any emotions to anyone else, ever again.

"It was a really good song."

She shrugs. "I guess."

"Do they know?"

"That I like you?" This is the first time she's admitted it to Rachel and it's so casual she almost doesn't realize she's said it.

"No, that you're... you."

Quinn shakes her head. "No. Just Blaine."

"And you still..."

She nods.

Rachel's actually quiet, not forcing any further conversation and Quinn can't believe she's wishing the other girl would just say something because the silence sucks and just reminds her of every reason why she should have just stayed in bed this morning instead of rushing off to prepare for one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.

Today's some kind of bi-polar day or something, though. Because just as easily as he rmood shifted between the end of the song and spotting Finn's big dumb head in the window, it's flipped again.

Two seconds ago, she was feeling sorry for herself.

Right now, Rachel Berry's kissing her.

It's not explosive. It's just a simple soft pressure against her lips and then it's over before Quinn can even wish she'd remembered her chapstick when she left the house this morning.

"I like you," Rachel says. Somehow, she manages to sound confident and vulnerable at the same time. "And I'd like to... get to know you better, too."

Quinn manages a short laugh at the song reference and she can't believe any of this actually worked. "It's not too complicated for you?"

"Oh, it's plenty complex. And I realize I really have no idea what a lot of this entails."

"I'm kind of all over the place, aren't I?"

"I don't mind keeping you company."

It's cliche and lame and straight out of some weird teen movie. But then what part of this hasn't been?

"I'll go to one of those club meetings. But... you have to let me take you out sometime next week."

"I would have said yes, regardless. But now I'm holding you to that."

Quinn wants to kiss her, again. Except Rachel's now edged up against her and kind of leaning on her shoulder, so she'd have to move to make anything like that happen. Instead, she stretches her arm out over the back of the bench.

"One meeting. But if it's lame, I'm done."

"Same could be said for our date, you know."

Date. As in, they're going out. Together.

"You sure you want to be seen out with a Dalton Warbler?"

"To be honest, that's the thing about all of this that makes me the most concerned."

"I'm not after your glee club secrets, don't worry."

"I could be after yours."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, actually."

There's something about this moment, the park, the suggestion of espionage, the smell of Rachel's citrus shampoo; it's exactly what she wants.

She hopes it lasts.


	16. Chapter 16

16

On Sunday, Sam's there on time and already saving her a seat in the back row by the time she shows up. There's no hat in her ensemble today, but she's sporting one of her nicer church dresses and a pair of wedges. It's actually nice to have some versatility and wear what she wants when she wants instead of having to wear something because it's expected of her. Of course, to everyone at church, they probably think she just got dressed up nice for the Sunday service because that's what you're supposed to do.

Whatever.

She sits with Sam and the kids, discretely passing a pen to Stevie when he looks bored out of his mind. In return, he sketches a picture of dinosaur on the back of the church bulletin and presents it to her once the service is over.

"Here, Quinn. It's a velociraptor."

"_That_ is an awesome velociraptor."

"Dude," Sam's eyes go wide. "It's an awesiraptor."

Stacy giggles and Stevie laughs and Quinn's grateful that Sam's someone she knows, because he's incredibly ridiculous a lot of the time, but he's funny and she likes that.

"Hey," he says to her, "let me take you out to lunch."

"Sam. You don't need to do that." She knows he's still busting his ass to keep his family afloat.

"Come on. Not anywhere fancy. Just, like... McDonald's." He looks to his siblings, giving a nod that encourages them to bounce up and down and agree that it sounds like the best idea of all time.

"Okay. Under one condition."

"Shoot."

"You can buy me lunch. But I'm buying theirs."

"That's..." Sam narrows his eyes, "Clever. Very clever."

It's not until they're alone in a booth, while the kids are out in the play area, that the conversation shifts from pop culture references and impressions to something else.

"Hey, were you in the park, yesterday?"

Quinn does her best not to choke to death on her french fry. "What? Why?"

"Okay, well... maybe this is going to sound weird if you weren't in the park yesterday, but I was out with Stevie and Stacy playing frisbee golf. Have you ever played that? It's fun, you'd probably be good at it."

"Sam..."

"Huh? Oh, right. Okay, so I saw this guy from Dalton totally running through the park and I had two thoughts: Why was this guy out for a run in his uniform? And why does he run just like Quinn?"

"If you knew it was me, why did you ask?"

"I didn't until right now."

"I hate you."

"Nah." Sam shoves at least half a dozen fries in his mouth, then looks at her and waits for some expansion on the story.

"You can't tell anyone." She doesn't even wait for verification because she knows she can trust him. "I mean, a couple people know and maybe the whole school is going to be talking tomorrow, but... I've been going to Dalton."

"That explains the uniform. Not so much the running in it."

"There was an incident." She realizes that if he was at the park, he could know more than he's letting on. "How much did you see, Sam?"

"I didn't see anything. Just you. Running. Then you sat down on that bench across the pond. I wasn't, like, stalking you."

She knows he's trying to be nice, but she'll feel a lot better if she just knows whatever he does. "Is that it?"

He shrugs. "Is it?"

"You're infuriating."

"You've been to church camp, right?"

This is a weird change of conversation, but she'll take it. "Uh, yeah. And cheer camp."

"Okay, so, the summer between freshman and sophomore year, go to camp and it's the same stuff as usual. You know, capture the flag, making lanyards, worship songs under the stars, whatever. Except that year, there was this really cool guy named Vince who was, like, just awesome."

Quinn's head tilts, just the slightest. This sounds like he's trying to tell her something very specific. "Like, how awesome?"

"By the end of camp I spent a lot of time praying that he'd just stop being so awesome so I could concentrate on, like, anything else."

Quinn leans forward and keeps her voice low. "You totally had a crush on him!"

"Uh, yeah."

"But you're not..."

"I said I wasn't _gay_."

She leans back in the booth and looks out the window. "You totally saw us, didn't you?"

"Like I said, I wasn't stalking you. But... I did notice you two seemed closer than usual."

"That isn't why I transferred, though. I had no idea it was even a possibility, at the time."

"How is Dalton, anyway? How'd you even get in?"

"I'm clever, Evans. Remember that." She lobs a fry at him and he successfully (but not surprisingly) manages to catch it in his mouth.

* * *

><p>Her conversation with Sam makes her wonder why she's been so secretive about everything. It also makes her wonder what the hell is up with McKinley, because the gay to straight ratio seems to be totally above the national average. Or maybe it's just because they've all stereotypically gravitated to glee club.<p>

During the drive home, she allows herself the brief fantasy of a life where nothing matters, where she can just go to Dalton and date Rachel without having to plan on taking her two towns over, just to avoid bullshit. It doesn't last all that long, though, because when she pulls up to her house, Finn's standing on her lawn, hands jammed in his pockets.

"Hey," she says as she crosses the driveway.

"What's going on with you?" Those are the first words out of his mouth and she knows this isn't going to be an easy conversation.

"A lot, actually."

"Is it... because of me?"

"What?"

"Because I broke up with you. Is that why you're..." He can't bring himself to specify, probably because he has no idea where to start.

"This has _nothing_ to do with you."

"Well, then what is it? Because this isn't you. Not the Quinn I know."

"Then maybe you don't know me, Finn!" It's habitual, the way she snaps at him. Like it's not communication between them without it.

"You know, I've put up with all your crap before, because I knew you couldn't help it because you were pregnant or just going through a hard time and stuff. But this feels like you're just doing it to hurt me."

"_**What?**_"

"Yeah. You know Rachel and I have a history and we're always trying to work stuff out. Maybe we're not together right now, but we always work it out. It's like you're just trying to mess things up for us."

She realizes it's more than likely he doesn't have the whole picture, that he doesn't actually know about her transfer to Dalton, that he might think the performance yesterday was just a one time charade.

Still, she's pissed. "You think this is about me trying to get back at you? I hate to break it to you, Hudson, but you're _**not that important**_."

"Yeah, well. I never was."

She's done, over it. "You have about thirty seconds to relocate your pity party before the sprinklers turn on." They're not due to turn on until sometime later in the evening, but he doesn't know that. She also knows he's wondering if she'll just turn them on herself.

"I wanted us to be friends, Quinn."

"No, you didn't. You wanted options. Well, sorry, but you're no longer one. You haven't been for a long time." She turns and moves for the front door. "Enjoy your afternoon."

The door slams before he can answer.

She feels vindicated and relieved for getting some of that off her chest.

She also feels a lot like shit.


	17. Chapter 17

17

Saturday afternoon ends with a phone call from Santana. She's lying across the couch, decidedly not watching a rerun of the Kardashians, when she answers.

"Hey."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What?" Quinn's still in a mood from dealing with Finn and she doesn't need any extra stress, right now.

"You already did your over the top gay boy review choir experience and you didn't bother to tell me? I should have been there to watch that shit. With popcorn. Instead, I had to hear about it from Blaine over coffee today while Kurt gave me the evil eye because he wanted to go suck face. Or maybe-"

"-I didn't want to jinx it."

"Aw, but baby, I'm your lucky charm."

"What the hell is that, even?"

"I don't know, I thought I'd try it out."

"What's so loud? Are you eating chips, right now?"

"... No."

"Liar."

"Warbler."

"Deal with it."

"So?"

"What?"

"What do you mean '**what**'? Did it work? Do I need to let you go? Are you going down on her, right now?"

"Yes. Maybe. And _**no**_."

"But she's into you."

"...Yeah. She is."

"I'm so good at this."

"Finn's pissed, though. He kind of saw the whole thing. Or, the first part."

"Wait, there are _**parts**_?"

"Just come over. And bring me ice cream."

"Okay, but only because I have nothing else to do and I'm a whore for gossip."

"That's not all."

"Shut up, Fabray."

"Not a chance, Lopez."

* * *

><p>She expects Monday to feel different, but it doesn't.<p>

After class and boxing club, she's too tired to run once she makes the commute home. Which is fine because she clocked the full hours of conditioning. But it also means not running by Rachel's house.

Before she can really debate just taking a walk, her phone buzzes.

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:28pm

Hi. :)

**Quinn Fabray **sent at 07:29pm

Hey!

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:30pm

No run tonight?

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:31pm

Worked out at school. Probably should do the same on Weds.

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:32pm

And I have ballet tomorrow. :|

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:33pm

I'll probably run on Thursday.

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:34pm

Maybe I'll watch for you. :)

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:35pm

:) Maybe?

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:36pm

If I'm not preoccupied with learning a new song for glee club.

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:37pm

Oh, whatever. You can multi-task.

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:38pm

I'm pleased to know you have confidence in me.

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:39pm

It's not hard when you brag about all your strengths.

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:40pm

There's nothing wrong with pride in your abilities, Quinn.

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:41pm

:P

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:41pm

Are you free on Friday?

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:42pm

Are you asking me out?

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:43pm

I already asked you, this is just a time confirmation.

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:44pm

What if I already have a previous engagement?

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:46pm

Um... then Saturday?

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:47pm

I'm not busy on Friday. :)

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:48pm

You're kind of pain in the ass.

**Rachel B. Berry **sent at 07:49pm

;)

**Quinn Fabray** sent at 07:53pm

Funny. I'm gonna go start my homework.

* * *

><p><strong>Quinn Fabray [8:46pm]<strong>

Homework sucks. You want to play Draw My Thing or something?

**Rachel B. Berry [8:46pm]**

http.com

* * *

><p>On Wednesday, Rachel calls her with an interesting question.<p>

"Are you planning to wear your uniform when we go out?"

"Uh. No, actually." To be honest, she hadn't even considered that her wardrobe choice might be an issue. "Will it matter to you if I wear... like, a jacket and tie?"

"Is that how you'll be most comfortable?"

"I guess, yeah."

"Then that's what you should wear."

"It's not weird to you?"

"Quinn, you're absolutely the prettiest girl I know. But you also make an incredibly dashing Warbler. It's not weird."

"Okay. Good."

"Besides, I'm not interested in you for your fashion decisions, anyway. Though, I must admit I really like you in a tie."

"Yeah? Any specific reason?"

"None that I'm willing to disclose at this point in time."

* * *

><p>Thursday comes and she runs. Rachel's already in the window and Quinn can't ignore the slight internal tug she feels at the sight.<p>

"Multi-tasking?" she asks, slowing to a stop on the lawn.

Rachel shrugs. "Just waiting for you."

It's so simple but it says more than Quinn expects to hear.

* * *

><p>Quinn's on Rachel's porch at seven o'clock sharp on Friday evening. She's pretty sure she's already ruined this date before it even has a chance to start.<p>

* * *

><p><em>While she'd originally been wary of joining boxing club, she totally loves it. So far, it's just been a bunch or working out, but today she's clocked enough hours to actually start sparring. She's much more excited about this then she thought she would be. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time she's pictured herself punching someone in the face.<em>

_Mr. Goodman explains the rules and she's up against a freshman. Her reflexes are sharp (she's always had a knack for deflection) and the body blows don't even really hurt. That might be because the other kid can't throw a decent punch or because she's a seasoned former Cheerio and also already pushed a human baby out of her body, so pain is kind of relative._

_She manages two solid hooks and she's about to go for a jab when her opponent (Owen, is his name), spots a window and takes a shot right at her face. It's not bad, because the gloves and the headgear absorbed most of the impact, but he did manage to make actual contact. It stings a little, but she's not that concerned about it until she actually catches her reflection in the locker room._

* * *

><p>"Oh my god." She stops wondering if Rachel will even notice. "Quinn. Your eye." Rachel's up on her toes, trying to look at the injury in the porch light.<p>

"I'm fine." She doesn't know if she's supposed to come in and talk to the Berry dads or what. "Um, are you ready to go or...?"

"Yeah." Rachel nods and grabs her purse off the small table in the entryway. "My dads are out. But they expect a full formal meet and greet before the next date."

"Next? You sure you want to plan that far ahead?"

"You're on time, you didn't spend fifteen minutes touching up your hair using my specialized salon hair products, and you're wearing a tie you probably tied yourself." Rachel pauses as Quinn opens the car door for her. "You're already ahead of my previous suitors."

That pleases Quinn way more than it probably should.

* * *

><p>She drives to Delphos, which is about a half hour outside of Lima. They both agreed that it would be beneficial to embark on a first date somewhere other than the town where they're likely to run into someone they know at any of the decent date spots.<p>

The car conversation is mostly just catching up on the events of the week. Quinn relays just how she ended up with a shiner. Rachel compliments Quinn's tie. Quinn expresses an appreciation for the fact that Rachel's wearing an actual dress and not one of those skirt and knee sock ensembles.

She wants to hold Rachel's hand, but she also has to steer and fiddle with the radio and by the time she's out of excuses, they've reached their destination. Maybe they're a little overdressed for rollerskating, but they're also seventeen so bars and strip clubs are out of the question. (Though they did pass a gentleman's club on the way in, which sparked a lively discussion about which members of New Directions would make the best strippers.)

* * *

><p>It takes the Couple Skate to get them to actually hold hands. Once they do, though, they don't really stop. Quinn can't get over the fact that Rachel's hands are smaller than hers and they fit together so well. Not like the clunky, awkward union of her fingers with Finn's. Sam's were definitely a better match, but still didn't feel as right as Rachel's did, right now.<p>

They're not really chatting while they skate. It's kind of tough to carry on a conversation over the music, anyway. But as the current track winds down, Quinn's ready to ask if Rachel wants to check out the snack bar, even though she's pretty sure there aren't that many vegan options.

She's interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Hey, y'all!"

Rachel tugs on her arm so hard, they almost both go crashing to the ground, but Quinn steadies them at the last minute.

"How is she even..."

Quinn shakes her head. "I have no idea."

"Maybe she hasn't noticed us. We could escape out the back."

"We need our shoes." The rental desk was positioned directly across from the booth.

"Maybe we ca-"

"I'd just like to direct y'all's attention to two of the sweetest little birds I've seen in all my years serenading young lovers."

There's suddenly a spotlight on them and Quinn thinks she's about ready to die. Rachel, however, is totally energized by the attention and snaps her out of it. "Just go with it."

"But..."

"Trust me. Nobody knows us here, anyway." She shoots a look at the booth. "Well, nobody _**else**_." It's enough to nudge Quinn back into motion, and she skates alongside Rachel, fingers still locked as April Rhodes starts in on a rendition of Eternal Flame by the Bangles. "And this way, neither of us will ever forget our song."

"We have a song?"

"We do now."


	18. Chapter 18

18

Apparently, being selected for the spotlight skate comes with a twenty-five dollar gift certificate to the local diner.

Rachel volunteers to pick it up from the booth while Quinn hangs back and spends some quality time (and some quality dollars) at the claw machine. She's on her third round and is making good progress getting a stuffed baby tiger closer to the drop point when her date rolls up to her, envelope in hand.

"Okay, so," Rachel slows to a stop, but that doesn't keep her from bumping into Quinn and knocking the joystick too far to the left and completely missing the tiger. "Oops. Sorry."

"It's your loss. I'm trying to get it for _**you**_." Quinn fishes another dollar out of her wallet and feeds it to the machine. "You were saying something before you totally lost all motor control."

Rachel grips the back of Quinn's blazer, just to keep herself steady. She's perfectly fine on skates when she's moving, but for some reason staying still is always difficult. "Right. We don't have anything to worry about because she thinks you're Sam."

"Wait, what?" She laughs, but manages to keep the claw steady.

"She said, 'Glad to see you got your hooks in that hunk of blondie football player.' And then she made me wait while rummaged through her purse so she could give me this."

Quinn's focused on her goal and doesn't look over until the claw releases the stuffed animal down the chute. "Gave you what?"

Rachel's holding up a condom. "I doubt we'll need it."

"Put that away!" She cups her hand over the square packet and pushes Rachel's hand down.

"It was rather considerate of her to consider our safety."

"It's a first date!"

"She doesn't know that. Where's my prize?"

Quinn retrieves the tiger from the machine. "I don't know. Maybe I want to keep it. I did all the work."

"Fine. You enjoy your evening with Mr. Cuddlestripes while I eat twenty-five dollars worth of salad and french fries, because I'm relatively positive those will be the only vegan items on the menu at," Rachel flips open the envelope and slips the certificate out just enough to read the name of the establishment, "The Drop In Diner."

"Mr. Cuddlestripes?"

"You don't think it suits him?" Rachel pokes the plush animal on the nose and Quinn smiles because it's so lamely adorable.

"I _**guess**_. And since you named him already, you should probably take him. But you're not making him eat vegan food." She sighs, as if handing him over is a reluctant chore.

"Everyone can benefit from a healthier diet, Quinn."

"He's a _**tiger**_." Rachel has the toy tucked under her arm and her other hand is still on to the back of Quinn's jacket, but it's not gripping, anymore. Instead, it's kind of just... there. "What?" she asks, because Rachel's just staring at her.

"As much as I love the spotlight, I'd kind of prefer that we get out of here before April dedicates any other songs to us." Rachel shifts on her skates and swings around in front of Quinn. Her fingertips lightly walk up the gray and white striped tie that coordinates with the charcoal blazer. "I know it's just a first date but..."

* * *

><p>It's not at all scandalous, really. Even though they're in the backseat, they're still totally dressed (okay, the blazer came off and it's flung somewhere across the seats) and no one's even made a move for second, yet.<p>

Kissing, though. Kissing is definitely a thing.

* * *

><p><em>They manage to return their skates without catching April's attention and then they're out the door and home free.<em>

_It's Quinn who makes the first move, this time. It's not even planned, it just happens. When she reaches for the passenger door handle, Rachel ends up between her and the car and her lips are just right there. Which she knows because she's been thinking about kissing her ever since Rachel was trying to get a decent look at her black eye on the porch._

_Even though they've already technically kissed once, she's not really prepared for the softness of Rachel's lips or the sensation of a delicate fingers slipping over the back of her neck. She's definitely not ready for the sound she makes in the back of her throat (or the one Rachel offers in return)._

_Ready, however, is relative._

Her lips are a little sensitive, her eyes are closed, and her head rests back against the seat. One arm's around Rachel, who's tracing her fingers over the striped pattern of Quinn's tie (which is a little looser than it was earlier in the evening).

_She's stuck in the blazer and she has to pull away from Rachel's mouth (which is not something either of them want to have happen) until she manages to free her arms. Rachel assists with the removal and haphazardly chucks the jacket toward the front of the car._

"_Come back here."_

_Quinn immediately understands what Rachel was saying about ties._

* * *

><p>"Quinn?"<p>

"Yeah?"

"May I... ask you about this?"

"About what?" There's a slight tug on her neck wear and she realizes what Rachel's asking. They haven't really talked a lot about it. "Oh."

"Don't feel obligated, right this moment. I'm just curious."

"No, it's... you should know." She brings her hand up over Rachel's and stops the movement. "First of all, I'm totally okay with being a girl. That's not what this is. But... I don't know. Do you ever feel like..."

Rachel apparently can't resist the opportunity to say, "A plastic bag?"

They both laugh and even though there isn't that much tension after so much time spent kissing, it still helps ease things along.

"No. Nerd." She tightens her arm around Rachel. "Like everyone expects you to be this one thing all the time, because that's who they think you are. But it's not who you are."

"All the time," is Rachel's quiet reply.

There's a long silence and then she whispers, "I'm really, really sorry, Rach."

Rachel doesn't ask why or for what. She just gently tips Quinn's face toward hers and says, "You get one, Fabray."

It takes nine words to resolve their history, but Quinn vows to spend a lot more (not just words, but actions, too) making up for it, anyway.


	19. Chapter 19

19

Even though their initial make-out experience is fairly tame (fully acceptable by Celibacy Club standards), she doesn't stop thinking about it all weekend. She _can't_ stop thinking about it.

Upon report, Santana's totally disappointed that neither party made a play for second, but she does give Quinn props for "finally doing something right, for a change."

"Watching you two bitch fight over Finndifferece wasn't even fun. It was just sad. I like this a lot better."

"No one was _bitch fighting_."

"Maybe if there had been Jello..."

"Stop, you're making me hungry."

They're jogging two miles together, because Quinn ate her weight in french fries on her date night and this is her penance.

Santana shuts up for a good twenty seconds, but jumps back in with, "So?"

"So, what?"

"When are you two gonna mash cats?"

Quinn trips over some invisible object, but she easily rights herself and falls back into pace with Santana. "You're disgusting."

"You have girlfriend and you're offended by lesbian sex. Nice work, Fabray."

"I'm totally fine with the," her voice drops a little at the next couple words, "lesbian sex. I just don't understand why you have to be so vulgar all the time."

"Because I hate sugar coating shit."

Quinn can accept that. But there's still an inaccuracy in something Santana's said. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, please."

"It was one date."

"Stop deflecting."

"From what?"

"From the fact that you two are gonna bone and you're gonna like it."

"I... didn't say we weren't. Or that... I wouldn't. It's just early."

"Whatever. You know she's into you. You know she _wants_ to have sex-"

"-I don't _know_ that."

Santana grabs Quinn's elbow and forces them to slow to a walk. "For two solid weeks after that first day she came to Celibacy Club, you would _**not**_ shut the hell up about that little speech she gave. If I can still remember that shit from two years ago, so can you."

"I-"

"You're both D.T.F. Deal with it."

"I still believe in waiting."

"For what, though? Even with the boxer briefs and the haircut, you can't get married. It would also be way lame."

"Waiting for the right time. And I'm not _**that**_ naive, San."

"Hard to tell, sometimes."

Quinn falls back into a run ignores Santana for a block and a half. When she finally speaks again, she still on topic. "There's also the fact that she's still... you know... a virgin."

"You sure about that?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

"Why _**would**_ she be?"

Quinn realizes she doesn't actually know. And she isn't exactly sure how to go about finding out.

* * *

><p>Sunday night, she's invited to dinner. Rachel insists she doesn't need to dress up, that it's purely casual, but she still spends at least an hour trying to figure out what to wear. She settles on a pair of jeans and a fitted polo shirt that's part of her country club attire. (Judy's actually a decent golfer and the past year has included a few motherdaughter trips to the green.) It's a fairly generic outfit, though it does specifically fit into the requested dress for the evening. It's also the first time in a long time she's just worn whatever she feels like without having to live up to something. As comfortable as she is in her Warbler Wear, it's still all about presentation. Also, the downside of dressing for Dalton is the compression shirt, which she's gotten used to but it's still just another layer and when she doesn't wear it, she realizes just how binding it is (which is the point, but still).

She even spends a little time touching up her eyeliner (there was some light makeup already applied due to her trip to church, this morning) and actually doing something with her hair. It's grown out a little since the initial cut and she figures she probably should make an appointment sometime soon.

Once she's on the front doorstep with her hands shoved in her jacket pockets, the toe of her right red Converse tapping against the ground as she waits, she realizes she feels... average. She's not dressed up, she's a little nervous about this dinner, and she's excited to see Rachel even though she just spent a good part of the afternoon chatting with her over Facebook.

As the door opens, she wonders when she's actually allowed to call Rachel her girlfriend because the girl on the other side of the threshold is wearing a sweater vest with a raccoon on it and Quinn just wants to kiss her.

This has to mean something.

Dinner is relatively relaxed and non-awkward. The Berry dads don't grill her about much other than classes and college choices, and those are easy topics for her. Afterward, she's invited to play Wii Sports Resort (yes, Rachel's controller is ridiculously Bedazzled) with all three of them and takes the opportunity to showcase her Wii Table Tennis skills.

After a few rounds, they escape upstairs to Rachel's room. Quinn's been in here before, but never to just hang out. She spots Mr. Cuddlestripes on the bed next to two monkeys and she smiles this ridiculous smile that she doesn't even realize is happening right away. And when she finally does, she tries to relax her face back to a normal person's expression but that doesn't change the light, flutter she feels inside.

Rachel drops onto the bed next to the collection of animals. When Quinn doesn't immediately join her, she pats the comforter. "It's perfectly acceptable. My dads are rather progressive when it comes to my suitors being allowed in my room."

"... what does that even mean?" Quinn sits on the bed so she's facing Rachel. There's also three feet of space between them.

"It means they respect my privacy and, in turn, I respect them." Rachel reaches forward and takes Quinn's hand. "It means we're allowed to do this." Their fingers lock together and Rachel pulls her forward.

She almost falls against Rachel, but an open hand stops her, then grips the front of her polo. "Are we also allowed to..."

There's a very slight nod and then they're kissing. Even though Quinn's been thinking about it since Friday night, it's almost like she wasn't remembering it right, because it's way better when it's actually happening. Somewhere between the point where she thinks there might be not a damn thing better than her tongue brushing against Rachel's and the sound one of them (it's hard to tell) makes when a delicate palm slides over her the knit fabric covering her breast, she realizes they're currently horizontal. She also notes that she doesn't care, that she made Finn work for opportunities like this but Rachel's just allowed (maybe because she doesn't operate her hands like she's some kind of sasquatch, but it's likely because she's a girl, because she also didn't just give Sam and Puck free passes, either).

Despite the fact that she's not slapping Rachel for rounding second, she still wonders if maybe they should slow down. She'd like more clarity on what is and isn't allowed while the Berry dads are home, because the last thing she wants to it get in trouble for some kind of rule violation when they already seem to like her.

The second she pulls back, Rachel's hand falls away.

"Sorry, was that too much?"

"What? No." Quinn shakes her head. "I just wanted to make sure we were still... within the house rules of respect or whatever." Also, she kind of can't shake the question of how far Rachel went with Finn.

"Oh. Yes. We are." Their hands are still laced together and Rachel's lazily moving them back and forth.

"Okay." Quinn lowers herself so she's lying on her side, sharing Rachel's pillow. "So, what... _**isn't**_ allowed?" Rachel's actually silent. Quinn's not exactly sure what that means. "Rach?"

"I don't know. I haven't done anything else, really."

Her immediate reaction is relief, but the sudden dejected look on Rachel's face is cause for concern. "What's wrong?"

"I lack experience and I worry you'll probably get tired of me."

"You..." She props herself back up to get a better look at Rachel's face. "You're worried I'll get tired of you because you... haven't done stuff? You're talking to the former president of the Celibacy Club."

"But you... with Puck."

"One time. And it wasn't..." She tries to think of the right words. "It's not worth worrying about, okay?" Her encounter with Puck should have been forgettable, _**would have**_ been if it hadn't resulted in Beth.

"Okay." Rachel nods, but Quinn can tell she doesn't quite believe her.

"I screwed up once. And when I do it, again, I want it to be special. So..." She brings their still joined hands up to brush her lips over Rachel's thumb. "When you're ready. And I'm ready. I think that could be pretty special."

Rachel's looking at her in that kind of crazy way she does when she sings duets with people, only there isn't any singing happening. "Okay." This time, she sounds very, very convinced.

And immediately, Quinn feels like an idiot. "Crap. Okay, no."

"What?"

"I... was supposed to ask if you..." Her head falls forward and presses against Rachel's shoulder and whatever she's saying is lost in a muffled mumble.

"I... didn't hear you."

Quinn raises her head. "I was supposed to ask if you wanted to be my girlfriend. Before I suggested we... eventually sleep together."

"I actually heard you the first time. I just wanted to make you say it, again."

She's never before been so torn between kissing someone and tickling them until they beg for mercy.

She manages to do both.


	20. Chapter 20

20

The week that follows is near perfection. Except for the part where she hardly gets a chance to see her girlfriend. (But the part where she _**has**_ a girlfriend is, like, awesome.)

Between Boxing Club, two sets of glee club rehearsals, and Rachel's ballet class, they exchange a lot of texts and Facebook messages, but Quinn doesn't see Rachel until Thursday, and even that's only for a few minutes.

They're really good minutes, though.

When she rounds the corner and approaches the Berry house, she's prepared to look up in the window, but then she spots the figure sitting on the lawn. As she nears, she slows her pace to a walk, and eventually stops right in front of Rachel and the small ice chest that sits next to her on the grass.

"Hey, you." She grins and tilts her head toward the cooler. "Transporting organs or something?"

"I would make a comment about hearts, but I fear it's too early in our relationship and I don't want you to feel smothered." Rachel opens the lid (yes, it has the name Berry Bedazzled across the center) and pulls out a Vitamin Water, which she hands to Quinn.

"Concerned about my hydration?" she asks, twisting the cap.

"Is that a problem?" Rachel shrugs as she stands.

She's wearing a standard short skirt and blouse combination, the same thing she's almost always worn and that's always driven Quinn crazy. It still does. Except she finds it kind of cute, at the same time.

"Not really." She takes a chug of the drink, but doesn't want to down too much of it, because she still has running to do.

Rachel hooks her fingers in the pockets of Quinn's hoodie and looks up at her. "What are you doing on Saturday?"

"Why do I have a feeling you're about to tell me?"

"Kurt and I were thinking that maybe we could go to the Toledo Zoo."

"Is this a double date?"

"No. It's a triple."

"Who's the third?"

"Santana. If she's still talking to whatever girl she's currently seeing by then."

"Oh. Um. Jenna. No. Jessica. Jamie?"

Rachel shrugs. "I don't know. You're the one who talks to her."

"You sure you can handle a full day with her?"

"She's been much more cordial to me this year. Perhaps because her best friend's had an undeniable attraction to me."

"Undeniable?"

"Are you denying you're attracted to me?"

"I... no."

"Undeniable attraction."

Quinn feels incredibly light. Happy, she thinks is probably the right word. "I should get back to my run."

She kisses Rachel on the front lawn and, in this moment, she doesn't even care if anyone sees them.

* * *

><p>The zoo trip isn't actually a total disaster. Santana's in a good mood (apparently because Julia totally put out the night before) and stays in the zone of hilarious sarcasm rather than making anyone break down into tears.<p>

There's a point where Blaine and Kurt disappear into the gift shop and Santana and Julia are somewhere looking at lizards, and Quinn and Rachel are left alone near the ice cream cart next to the baby elephant exhibit.

Quinn's about to buy something for them both, but her date tells her to put her money away and pays for two coconut pops. As she watches the simple transaction (Rachel handing over the cash, then almost dropping one of the purchases because it's too hold in her hands), she feels a tug in her chest, not overwhelming or anything, but it's there.

She feels like there's something she could say, right now, but instead she just thanks Rachel for the popsicle and holds her hand while they walk over to meet their friends at the monkey house.

* * *

><p>On the drive home, Julia and Rachel both pass out within the first twenty minutes, leaving Santana and Quinn to text each other under the sleepy dead weight of their lady companions. Actual talking would probably be a viable option, but Kurt's SUV is huge and Santana's all the way in the back, so the phone messages are just easier than trying to hear each other.<p>

Also, this way, they can talk about their dates.

**SANTANARAMA: You 2 are disgusting together.**

**QFAB (me): I don't know how you managed to survive.**

**SANTANARAMA: Srsly. I need insulin.**

**QFAB (me): Whatever. I saw you 2 making out by the batcave.**

**SANTANARAMA: Yeah, but that's hot.**

**QFAB (me): I'm pretty sure feeling someone up in public might be grounds for a misdemeanor.**

**SANTANARAMA: I gave up on my Celibacy Club vows this year.**

**QFAB (me): She seems nice.**

**SANTANARAMA: Yeah, I guess.**

**QFAB (me): She's the 3rd girl you've dated since the summer & she's lasted a whole week. That's a record.**

**SANTANARAMA: Maybe. I think she's named after Julia Roberts, tho. And I kind of always think of Erin B... however you spell it when we make out.**

**QFAB (me): You're hot for Erin Brockovich?**

**SANTANARAMA: Shut up. Your girlfriend is a hobbit from Narnia.**

**QFAB (me): Hobbits are from Middle Earth. Not Narnia.**

**SANTANARAMA: Ew, you sat through all those movies?**

**QFAB (me): They're call books, S.**

**SANTANARAMA: Whatever. You two gonna do the nasty anytime soon?**

**QFAB (me): No one is doing "the nasty".**

**SANTANARAMA: Virgins. Yes. Both of you. Bc you might as well be 1.**

**QFAB (me): That's sweet.**

**SANTANARAMA: You would take that as a compliment.**

**QFAB (me): It doesn't mean I don't want to... with her. We're just waiting.**

**SANTANARAMA: You 2 are at least doing under the shirt stuff, right?**

**QFAB (me): It's none of your business.**

**SANTANARAMA: That ttlly means you have. Remind me l8r, I'll show you how to unhook a bra with your teeth.**

* * *

><p>This Monday is different than last Monday. It drags. She gets a "C" on a pop quiz.<p>

At lunch, Jackson flags her down in the cafeteria. She's on her way to sit with Blaine, but she figures she might as well mix things up.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing much. How was your weekend, Fabray?"

"Uh, good. Went to Toledo with some friends and... my girlfriend." This is the first public usage of the term and it feels good but also kind of scary to use it.

"That's cool. What'd you guys do?"

"The zoo."

"Awesome." Jackson jabs some potato on his fork. "You coming this afternoon?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

"I watched you spar, last week. Your technique is pretty good, but I think I could show you a could things."

"Cool."

* * *

><p>Her face really hurts. That's about all she can process.<p>

"Quinn? Can you hear me?"

* * *

><p><em>After her last class, she hustles to the gym and quickly changes in one of the locker room stalls. Most of the guys usually stagger in, unlike Warblers practice where everyone's in a rush to show up. She works on a bag with Mr. Goodman for a solid fifteen minutes before Jackson's ready to go.<em>

"_You ready?"_

"_Sure, man."_

_Jackson raises the ropes and nods for Quinn to go first. Once their both in the ring, he begins reviewing some of the info about stances and then demonstrates a few combinations. It's all pretty much rehash of what they've already covered, but she appreciates what he's trying to do._

* * *

><p>"Don't move."<p>

"You'll be okay."

"Shit, that's kind of a lot of blood."

* * *

><p><em>They're just sparring. Something she did all last week, without incident. She's not sure where her attention is in the last final moment, but it's definitely somewhere else. It's not even that she's late in reacting, it's just that she didn't react fast enough. The punch coming at her is deflected, but instead of veering off to her left side, Jackson's glove moves right and lands smack in the center of her face.<em>

* * *

><p>Her nose is broken. Apparently, it's not that big a deal to fix, but it means she's in the hospital.<p>

Judy and Rachel have both been buzzing around and it's kind of really weird for Quinn to watch, because this is the first time they've really been forced to interact. They seem to get along okay, though. Really, it appears they've bonded over how barbaric they find boxing.

"I really don't know what you were thinking, Quinnie."

"You could have been seriously injured," Rachel adds.

"Right, like the same thing didn't happen to you in Glee Club." Quinn's voice is a little garbled and she's groggy, but she doesn't want to sleep. She just wants to sip ginger ale through a straw and watch Access Hollywood.

But there are bigger things at stake.

The school knows. About _**her**_.

The irony is, if she actually wanted to be a guy? If this were some kind of a transition period for her? She'd be allowed to stay. But she doesn't and it isn't, so it looks like she's headed back to McKinley.

She's to drugged to be depressed about it.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn," Rachel says, perching on the edge of the hospital bed. Her fingers immediately seek out Quinn's palm and draw abstract designs.

"It was kind of bound to happen. Sneaking around usually... ends in someone finding out."

Santana wants her to join the golf team. Rachel wants her back in Glee Club. Quinn doesn't even know how she's going to face those halls, again.

She has a couple days to strategize.

But she's tired of thinking, exhausted from all the evaluating.

She just wants to be Quinn and have that be enough.


	21. Chapter 21

21

On Thursday, Jackson shows up at her house with flowers.

Before Quinn can even ask how he knows where she lives, he says, "Blaine told me. He's actually been kind of the information guy."

She nods. She's talked to him a lot this week. Because Dalton is so weirdly open, it seems like there are really no hard feelings and there's apparently a petition going around to allow her to stay, which she thinks is sweet, but not necessary.

She's in her sweats and a Cheerio hoodie. Her hair's not done and her face is still bruised, both from the impact and the resetting surgery. Despite not looking overly girly, Jackson's not looking at her like one of the dudes. She doubts he'd bring his fellow bros flowers, anyway.

"What's up?"

"You're a girl."

"Yeah."

"The whole time."

"Um, yeah."

"Quinnie? Is everything okay?" Judy appears in the entry way, taking in the sight of Jackson.

"Yeah, Mom. we're fine."

"Okay. I'll just be in the living room." She eyes the tall boy before exiting into the other room.

"Sorry. She's just... concerned."

Jackson laughs. "Oh, man. This is embarrassing." He pauses for a moment, then it's as if something else dawns on him. "Wait. Okay. No, there's no way."

"What?"

"Do you... have a yearbook? From Bellville?"

Quinn's arms cross over herself. "No. We don't need to do this. You can go."

"Okay. Whoa. Let me backtrack. I was having this weird thing when I met you. Like I thought I knew you. And you said Bellville, but I couldn't figure it out because there were no guys named Fabray in either of the classes. But there was L-"

"I _**know**_." The guy Jackson knew from Dalton was obviously not as scary as Quinn could be when she was in her home element. A look she's seen a thousand times flash over Finn's face suddenly appears on Jackson's. "Sorry, just... go ahead."

"Um, so I was kind of confused?"

"Well, now you know. Lucy Caboosey. Done. Thanks for the flowers." She's about to shove him out the door.

And then he says, "I thought I was gay or something."

She stops. "What?"

He shrugs. "I kept wanting to hang out, but it kind of felt weird and I thought I was... gay for you."

"But I had a girlfriend."

"Not at first, you didn't. And you always hung out with Blaine."

"He has a boyfriend."

"I know. I don't know what I thought. But when I found out you were... a girl. It made a lot of sense and I've kind of slept a lot better."

"Because you're not gay."

"Yeah. I mean, no. It's cool. I'm just not. But I thought I was. And... this is lame. And you're probably tired. So... it was awesome to know you, Quinn." He holds out his hand.

Quinn stares at it a second, then shakes it. "Maybe we can hang out, sometimes."

His face brightens. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But I have a _**girlfriend**_."

"Got it."

Once he's gone, she slips up to her bedroom and considers napping, but she's not really tired. She has one more day of actively avoiding school, then it's back to McKinley after the weekend.

In the back of her closet is a box that had been up in the attic for years. She'd pulled it down last spring, after she decided everything in it wasn't a total waste. Except once she got it down, she didn't bother looking inside.

She figures she has nothing but time to kill until Rachel comes over, so she drags it out and opens it. The top layer is a few comic books, superhero stuff she hasn't really looked at since middle school. Under those is a Xena action figure and she laughs a little at the evident foreshadowing. In the bottom is what she's looking for, a middle school yearbook, barely touched.

As she opens the cover, she remembers the day they were issued and how Mrs. Jensen made everyone pass their books around to get signatures from everyone. It was supposed to create a feeling of equality, but it had just made her feel like crap, knowing everyone was obligated. All she ended up with was twenty-three signatures with no actual messages. The twenty-fourth was from Mrs. Jensen herself, so that didn't count. But in the back, she found what she was looking for, the phrase, "Have a good summer!" with Jacky Donnelly scrawled next to it. She doesn't even need to flip to the class photo section remember that he was that too-skinny kid who ended up trash-canned at least once a month.

Jackson Donnelly might have broken her nose after she'd confused the hell out of him, but she kind of feels like she's just gained a lifelong friend.

* * *

><p>"Quinn?"<p>

"Hmm?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Sorry. I didn't... I zoned out. What were you saying?"

"I asked what you're wearing tomorrow."

They're in her room, lying on her bed after a delicate make-out session. Her nose is healing but it's still sensitive. Though, given their latest progression, this time around was really more about hands and shirts than anything. In fact, Rachel's hand is currently under her sweatshirt, resting against her bare stomach.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think," Rachel drags her fingers across Quinn's skin. "You should wear whatever makes you comfortable."

"That's it?"

"Well, my other suggestion is to let me pick something out for you, but I know you'll nev-"

"-Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Pick something out."

Rachel props herself up. "You're serious?"

"Yes," Quinn laughs.

"I'm sorry, it's just a monumental moment, given the amount of trust you appear to have in me and also taking into account that you haven't always been so fond of my previous fashion choices."

"Rach, they're my own clothes. But yeah, okay. I trust you picking stuff for me out of my own closet."

"It's still," Rachel leans down. "A big deal," she mumbles.

About ten minutes later, there have been no wardrobe advancements for the next day, but their shirts are off and Quinn realizes just how good her girlfriend is at leaving hickies.

* * *

><p>Quinn's back to school (take two) outfit is actually pretty decent. Yes, she ended up in a sweater vest, but it was her own damn fault for owning it. Anyway, it's just plain red and the gray and white checked shirt underneath is one of her favorite pieces she acquired over the summer. All that's matched up with a pair of jeans, boy cut but still fit to her frame, not baggy. There's no compression shirt, no socks in her boxer briefs. She's just trying to feel comfortable. Which she does. In her clothes, anyway.<p>

She's prepared for a walk of shame, the same struggle down the halls she felt when word got out that she was pregnant, when she was kicked off the Cheerios, when she wasn't on top.

But back then, she didn't have the Bullywhips at her side. She didn't have Rachel holding her hand (they'd talked about it and decided just to go big or go home).

Unlike before, she feels secure and protected.

Santana has to get something from her car, so they wait at the edge of the parking lot, their linked hands gently swaying back and forth.

Rachel looks up at her and then she's suddenly on her toes, slipping a hand behind Quinn's neck. For a second, Quinn thinks she's going to kiss her, which wasn't really on the list of PDA they'd deemed acceptable for school (yes, there was a list and a chart and a diagram, because she's dating Rachel Berry), but she kind of doesn't care, at this point.

But there isn't a kiss. Instead, Rachel's lips brush against her ear.

"I love you."

It's the simplest of gestures, which makes it a grand occasion, because Rachel doesn't do simple.

Unlike before, she feels loved.

Now Quinn can't help but want to kiss her, except Santana's already on her way back. "I-"

Two of Rachel's fingers press themselves against her lips and silence her to an unintelligible muffle. "When you're ready, Quinn. I'm not going anywhere."

Unlike before, she feels like she has no idea what to expect.

But at least she feels like Quinn Fabray.


	22. Epilogue

It's the middle of December, which means Christmas is just around the corner. And, this year, she has to think about Hanukkah, because her girlfriend's totally Jewish.

They've been dating for a little over three months, which isn't forever, but it's long enough for Quinn to gain three specific anniversary gifts: a Bedazzled magnetic picture frame with a photo of herself and Rachel from the digital picture booth at Blastorama, a tiger striped skinny tie (in honor of Mr. Cuddlestripes), and a silver key chain with _close your eyes, give me your hand _etched on it.

The seeming longevity of their relationship also means that Santana has taken to asking Quinn, at least once a week, if she and Rachel have: Knocked boots, done the mattress mambo, made some friction, done the humpty hump (see also: lust and thrust), mingled limbs, scissored, or stormed the trenches.

Every single time, Quinn's reply is, "Not yet."

On this specific afternoon, though, with two days until Winter Break, when Santana catches her after their Lit final and asks if they've "hobbled the horsey", Quinn says, "I think we're going to."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. Or... what was a sex thing you just said, right? I actually can't ever tell."

"When?"

"I don't really have it on my calendar. We're just talking about it."

"Oh my god. I can't handle you guys. It's gross."

"What?"

"You two sitting around trying to figure out sex."

"Well, not all of us have been doing it since we were fourteen."

"Oh crap, you two actually do have little discussions, don't you?" Santana grabbed Quinn's hand and wrote something on it.

"What is this?"

"It's something you need to watch, just trust me."

"I don't really think porn is our style..."

"_**Trust **m_e."

* * *

><p>"So, Quinn, I've taken the liberty of looking up a few things, as per our conversation via email last night."<p>

They're in the cafeteria and Quinn just sits down next to Rachel at their usual table in the south corner of the space. Kurt usually joins them, but he's still at the tail end of the lunch line. Santana's also currently MIA, but that's not uncommon.

"Um, okay." Before she can ask anything else, Rachel already has her netbook open.

"Let me just bring up the pa- Huh, that's odd. Everything worked just fine at home."

"Wait, what's the name of the site?" Quinn leans closer to get a better look, then immediately shuts the cover.

"You missed my fingers by a very narrow margin. And given what was on that site, I'll be needing them for-"

"You can't look at porn at school, Rach!" she says in a harsh whipser.

"It's not pornography. It's an informative website."

"Does it have sex pictures?"

"Diagrams, yes."

"Sweetie, you're going to get us in trouble."

"I just like to be efficient!"

"I know." Quinn unscrews the cap to her Vitamin Water. "How was the Government final?"

"Tedious." Rachel has her own packed lunch from home, including tofu satay, which she immediately offers to Quinn.

"But you think you did okay, though, right?"

Rachel nods and rests a hand on Quinn's knee, gently rubbing her thumb over the denim of her jeans. "It seems that flashcard drills are equally effective with your hands up my shirt."

"Told you."

"I imagine next semester's finals will be even easier as we'll likely be studying," Rachel leans in and says the last bit directly into Quinn's ear, "with my hands in your _**pants**_."

Quinn spits Vitamin Water clear across the table.

* * *

><p>The movie Santana recommends is on Netflix, but Quinn's never even heard of it. Rachel's already over to study for tomorrow, anyway, but they've been reviewing everything for ages and she's pretty sure she can't cram anything else into her head.<p>

"I've heard of this!" Rachel declares upon seeing the title on the screen.

"But you haven't seen it?"

"Nope."

* * *

><p>Quinn's lucky she already studied for her calculus final over the weekend because there would have been impossible to study tonight.<p>

* * *

><p>"So?" Santana's waiting by her locker.<p>

"So, my mom came home right after the sex scene and wanted us to bake cookies together."

"Sweet, sex and cookies."

"No. Not sweet. Rachel and I couldn't even look at each other because all we could think about was..."

"That's when you're supposed to do it, Fabray. Anyway, if your girlfriend's going to be picking out your sweater vests three times a week, you two really should be threading the needle."

"Okay that... where do you even get these? I went to an all boys' school and spent time in a locker room and never heard any of the weird shit you say to me."

"I take the time to educate myself, thanks."

"And what, you're so educated you can't hold down a girlfriend?"

"It's called playing the field. And this latest one's kind of a creeper."

"Melissa? I thought she went to Carmel."

"She does, but she keeps showing up here." Santana actually looks over her shoulder. "But, whatever, she lets me-"

"Ew, I so don't want to hear the rest of that."

"- drive her classic Mustang Mach 1. Jesus, Q, have a little faith in me."

"Sorry."

"There's not a ton of room in the backseat for the two person push-up, but we managed."

"I hate you."

"You love me. Carry my books."

* * *

><p>Finals are over and the weekend lies ahead, followed by two weeks of vacation. Quinn feels a little guilty that she's hoping the season set aside to celebrate the birth of Jesus is hopefully about to double as her gateway into intimate sexy time with Rachel.<p>

Saturday's perfect, because her mom's gone all day at some church fundraiser event, so they have the house to themselves. Quinn's certain they'll stay confined to the bedroom, but the assurance that her mother won't be knocking to suggest they join her for the latest episode of Chopped gives her an added boost of confidence.

"Is it weird to do this during the day, though?" she asks as she shuts the bedroom door.

Rachel's already on the bed with her netbook open in front of her. "I would assume it's useful to actually be able to see what we're doing, so no."

"Isn't that, like, a thing for some people? And are you checking Facebook, right now? I thought we had a plan." Plan or not, she's still nervous, which is probably evident by the way her hands are shoved in her jeans pockets and rhythm of her socked foot shuffling back and forth against the floor.

"I was just looking something up. For reference."

"I think we can figure it out."

Rachel looks up from the screen and a slow smile spreads across her face at the sight of Quinn still standing in the middle of the room, foot grazing the carpet. She shuts off the computer and rises from the bed, then sets the computer on the desk before she pads over to her girlfriend. "I like this shirt on you, by the way."

"Thanks, it's Kurt approved." It's a plaid snap-button up, with a hint of western flair.

Already, Rachel's head is tilted up and she's pressing her lips to Quinn's. This isn't new, at all, but it kind of feels different. Maybe because she knows this is specifically leading to something. Only, they're not going to get much done standing in the middle of the room.

The kiss is the kind that's a slow build and Quinn doesn't really want to break it, so she figures maybe they can shuffle toward the bed together, except it's impossible to see where she's going with her eyes closed.

"Crap, sorry," she says, looking down. "Was that your foot?"

"Yeah." Rachel nods. "It's okay. Didn't hurt."

"Good." Quinn eyes the distance between their position and the bed. It's not that far. But she doesn't want to step on her girlfriend, again.

Rachel's always been pretty good at reading her, and right now is no exception. She turns around, clutching a loose handful of Quinn's shirt, and leads them to the edge of the bed. "This wasn't specifically illustrated, but I assume we should start here."

She's kneeling on the bed, facing Quinn, which makes it impossible to not start kissing again, so they do. There's a tug at the bottom of the shirt and at least half the snaps pop open and that's incredibly hilarious to Rachel.

"Stop," Quinn mumbles, "laughing."

"Trying," but she can't contain her giggles. "Sorry." Rachel pulls back and takes a breath like she's about to perform on stage or something. "Okay." That seems to calm her down and she yanks the remaining buttons open.

But now it's too serious, which elevates everything back to a giggle fest. Rachel falls back against the bed and Quinn moves with her, except her arms are stuck in the shirt because she's trying to take it off at the same time, so she kind of lands face first on Rachel's sweater clad stomach.

"Help me." She's already imagining the rest of the evening and wondering just how much Santana will make fun of her if she didn't actually have sex because she was trapped in her stupid shirt.

With Rachel's assistance, but mostly just a moment of patience, the shirt easily comes off and the impending crisis is averted.

What immediately follows is familiar territory. They've been holding steady at second for almost the entire duration of their relationship, though they've progressed from the modest over the clothes stuff to some rather intense topless make-out sessions. It was one of those that led to them rounding shortstop earlier this week (which isn't an actual base, but where else do you put dry-humping?), or they would have if Rachel's dads hadn't come home right in the middle of everything and made Quinn so frantic to find her shirt that she rolled right off Rachel's bed.

Currently, she's flat on her back, while Rachel's positioned herself directly on top of Quinn, knees on either side of her hips. Rachel's still wearing a bra, Quinn's not. Their hands are locked together on both counts and pressing against the comforter directly above Quinn's head. Kissing's a thing, like always, but there's a newer added element where the pressure of Rachel's body against Quinn's is generating a need for reactionary resistance and all Quinn knows is that she really needs them to finish taking off their clothes, like, yesterday.

It happens a little less gracefully than she imagines it will. She actually has to get up to pull her jeans all the way off, but Rachel's skirt proves much less difficult. There's an awkward moment where she's not sure if she should take off her underwear, but she figures she might as well if they're actually serious about this and she doesn't want to have to, like, stop in the middle of something else just to deal with them. Rachel picks up on the cue and sheds her own undergarments.

And then then both immediately dive under the sheet, because as much as they want to have sex, they've never actually seen each other naked before. Quinn's still self-conscious about her post-baby body and feels like she probably always will be.

When they're horizontal, again (this time, side by side), she leans in to resume the kissing. Until Rachel yelps.

"Ow, wait! You're on my hair!"

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Maybe I should put it up."

"I like it, though."

"What if it gets in the way?"

"I'll deal with it."

Rachel runs her hand through Quinn's hair, which is about as long as it was right after the New York trip. "Yours should be fine. I'm glad you left something to grab on to, though."

"What... exactly is it that you think we'd be doing where you'd need to... grab on?"

"Not so much _**need**_ to as _**want**_ to..."

Quinn feels the flush creeping across her skin. "So, um..." She's not sure what should happen next.

But Rachel apparently already has a game plan, because she pushes Quinn onto her back and begins leaving kisses along the length of her body as she disappears under the covers.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"I... thought I'd... go down on you. You mentioned the other day that it interested you."

"I... You can't just open with that." She hadn't considered that Rachel would just jump right into it, though it's not a huge surprise. The girl's probably been studying up for this just as much as she did the last week's final exams.

"Traditionally, oral sex is a form of foreplay which is often considered a precursor to the main sexual event." Rachel's chin rests on her stomach. "So, technically, it's an opening act. But... I don't have to if you'd prefer something else."

In this moment, Quinn realizes (probably not for the first time) that her girlfriend will never be like anyone else, that she will always be Rachel Berry, a little bit out of her mind, but always unique and that's one of the things she loves most about her. Also, she looks incredibly adorable with her head peeking out from under the sheet while she waits for Quinn's response.

"I love you," she says and immediately feels warmth and happiness at the look that reflects on Rachel's face. It's another 'not first, but different'. She's pretty sure today's going to be full of them.

Contrary to the fact that several people seem to think she's a frigid bitch who never indulges in any form of self pleasure, Quinn Fabray is actually fairly adept at getting herself off. Really, how would she be able to keep her horny boyfriends in check if she was equally as worked up without any form of release? The power of prayer only extends so far, particularly when it comes to teenage libido. Yeah, she _**let**_ people think that Celibacy Club apparently translated to Nun Club, but few people took their membership seriously, anyway. And, frankly, she probably would have imploded if she hadn't engaged in some serious solitaire (thanks, Santana) during the pregnancy.

She knows what works for her. But then this whole thing with Rachel's mouth? Totally new.

It's almost frustrating, because the build up is so much slower, but as her hips begin to rise and fall and Rachel has to actually grab on to her thighs, the appeal is clear. She's had her eyes closed, but when she opens them on whim, she realizes she's been missing out, because the sight of Rachel (who, by now, shoved the covers away probably to keep from suffocating under them) between her legs is, like, the hottest thing she's ever seen.

When she comes, it isn't mind blowing, there aren't fireworks. But she feels really, really good. And out of breath. But mostly loved.

Rachel's wiping at her face, but Quinn doesn't care, she just grabs her and pulls them together, kissing her and realizing the heady taste on her girlfriend's lips is herself. It seems like something that should be weird, but it totally isn't.

They're tangled together and it takes an extra movement to get Quinn's arm out from under Rachel, but then she's successfully on top of her, hand lingering over her girlfriend's stomach before dropping to a thigh.

There's another kiss before she needs to make some eye contact and when she does, she asks, "Are you ready? Can I..."

Rachel nods. "Yeah."

Quinn waits for any further instruction, because Rachel's been a fiend about diagrams and positions and technique all week. "Anything specific you want?"

"Just you, Quinn."

She ends up with a bit of a cramp in her forearm when all is said and done, but Rachel's content, she's happy, and they're wrapped up in each other in a way that's probably so damn cute it's ridiculous. Later, they'll go for a second round and Quinn will discover just how much she loves going down on her girlfriend, even with an accidental kick to face.

For the moment, though, this is just enough.


End file.
